Enter a Sergeant, a Corporal and four Privates.
Sergeant (striking Pete on the head with his cane). That's for your ugly phiz and impudence.
[Exit PETE, howling.
(To Mrs. Secord.) Your slaves are saucy, Mistress Secord.
Mrs. Secord. Well, sir!
Sergeant. None of my business, eh? Well, 'tis sometimes,
You see. You got my message: what's to eat?
Mrs. Secord. My children's food, sir. This nor post-house is,
Nor inn, to take your orders.
[FLOS and PETE enter, carrying dishes.
Sergeant. O, bless you, we don't order; we command.
Here, men, sit down.