Tick. (Bowing.) I have that honor.
Topp. Playing tricks on the “old man,” eh? I’ve a mind to discharge you on the spot. Well, I wont, come to think of it. The manager says you could sell oysters to a tobacco sign.
Tick. (Bowing.) Thank you!
Topp. But I can’t forgive such freaks, sir.
Tick. I’m very sorry—
Twiggs. Yes, he’s sorry. Young blood you know and none spilled either—(All laugh.)
Mrs. T. (Severely.) Josiah!
Mr. T. Yes, my dear!
Mrs. T-K. We had better go home!
Topp. Certainly, madam. Potts! Where’s that niggro?