Topp. But, madam, allow me to explain—I beg you will not be hasty, stay—there she goes—(She exits in dudgeon. L.) (To Tick.) This is disgraceful, sir!
Tick. I quite agree with you, and at your age too. Now why do you prefer a blonde? Brunettes are more to my taste.
Topp. (In towering passion.) Your taste? Blonde! Brunette! I have expressed no choice, you impertinent coxcomb. Why don’t you go? Where is that niggro? If he doesn’t kick you down stairs, I will. (Going to bell.)
Enter Gin. L. Angie following appears in door.
Gin. Massa Topp, a young lady dat wants to see you.
Topp. (Cross.) Send her away, I wont see her. (Sees Angie, who comes forward smiling; he changes.) Ah! yes, what can I do for you?
Angie. I called in answer to your advertisement.
Topp. (Calming down.) Hum! yes. (Aside.) Confound it, which does she mean? (To Angie.) Be seated. (Aside.) How shall I begin?
Angie. Thank you! (Seats herself chair L.)
Tick. (Aside.) Typewriter or dog fancier?