Rog. Not dead! Got well! The cussed paper said he was dead.
Law. A reporter’s mistake.
Rog. We’ll, I’ll be—that beats me.
Flo. (Soliloquy.) That is why he never came. (With anguish.) Oh! oh! (Mrs. R. helps her to settee.)
Law. Rachel, where are they?
Rach. I don’t know, sir. But Mr. Herbert has a pistol. Oh, they’ll shoot.
Flo. That is terrible! Do stop them please! Quick!
Rog. Lookin’ fur ’im with a gun. Cuss me if that don’t mind me of old times. I’ll take a hand I ’low. (Changes.) Say, I haint no gun. (Excitedly.) Mollie, I told you we’d need a gun.
Law. Run, you are young. Explain. Command peace.