CAPT. Oh, certainly. (pulls money out) Dear me, I haven’t got a sixpence.
ETHEL. Haven’t you? I daresay he wouldn’t mind two shillings.
CAPT. (aside) This is deucedly expensive. (throws a coin) There, you scoundrel! (organ stops) And now, might I have the pleasure? (offering arm)
ETHEL. (taking it) Would you take my fan?
CAPT. I shall be charmed. These English beggars have such barbarous instruments. (the bagpipes start).
ETHEL. There that’s the Scotchman. He’s the worst of all. Pray do get rid of him. The bagpipes always make we ill.
CAPT. (again at window) My dear good fellow—you infernal rascal, stop that hideous din!
ETHEL. Oh, send him off—do send him off. I’m going to be so ill.
CAPT. Hi! How much will you go away for? What? He says he never goes away for less than half-a-crown.
ETHEL. He doesn’t. The bagpipes never do. They know that they can get the money. Give it him.