Topp. (With sudden gayety.) My boy, it makes me so good natured to think of it, and your inquisitiveness is so very refreshing that, by Jove, I’ll gratify it. I’m going to marry that young lady.
Tick. (Aside.) Well, he has assurance. A rival! (To Topp.) I admire your taste.
Topp. Aint I a lucky chap? Gad, I feel twenty-five. I think fifty-five is not very old, what do you say?
Tick. Not so old as seventy-five.
Topp. (Growls.) Seventy-five is not in question, sir. (To himself.) Ah! I’m in luck. That little blonde (or brunette, as the case maybe) is very pretty!
Tick. (Aside.) I’ll head him off! (To Topp.) May I suggest, sir, that your acquaintance with the young lady is rather brief.
Topp. A fig for your suggestion. She’ll come around all right. By the way, your alleged business seems to consist chiefly in poking your nose into other people’s affairs. I have suggested several times that you take your leave.
Tick. (Bowing.) At your pleasure. I’m waiting to be shown out.
Topp. O, to be sure! I beg pardon. I’ll ring for my man. (Starts to D. F. to pull bell. Sees Gin. and Spratt in door.) Potts, you there! Havn’t I told you a thousand times not to stand listening?