Gin. De chillen. Whah’s de chillen?
Tick. Children? I’m no married man.
Gin. Dat so? Well, I ’low dat does make some difference. (Bell again.) Wisht dat bell was in Jericho; dere’s too many people comin’ here I know. It’s de sign on de dooh. Massa Topp’ll jest naterally kill dat painter who fumbled up dat 3 so ye can’t tell it from de 5, nor de 5 from de 7. It’s turnin’ de whole neighborhood crazy. (Exit L.)
Tick. (Taking up paper, reads on wrapper, “Topp & Topp.”) Hello, here’s an adventure. I’ve got into the house of my employer, old Topp, of Topp & Topp, Oyster Packers. Well, it’s too late to back out now, I’ll sell him the dogs or break a trace trying. Lucky for me I’m on the road most of the time. I think he doesn’t know me. He’s as queer as all out o’ doors. If he should discover me and get out of humor about it, he’d give me a passport to the street. (Meditates.) Ah, I have it; I’m not Jim Baggs at all. The boys used to call me Tickle. Laughed too easy and got thrashed for it every day, in school; it became Tick for short. Now, I’m simply Tick, James Tick, Esq. (Voice outside. “I tell you I must see him.”) Hello! more dogs?
Enter Ginger and Spratt, L.
Gin. (To Spratt.) Hadn’t you bettah try No. 5, sah? I think dat’s de place youall’s lookin’ foh.
Spratt. I have tried No. 5 and they say No. 3 is the place.
Gin. S’pose you try No. 7.
Spratt. This is the place, I’m sure. I won’t be put off. (Takes chair, eyes Tick suspiciously.)
Gin. Cahd, sir, I’ll take in your cahd. (Spratt gives soiled card.) (Aside.) Jiminy, dat’s a dirty cahd, if I hand dat cahd to Massa Topp he’ll give me fits. (Tears card and throws it under table.) ’Scuse me (to Spratt), w’at did ye say youah name was?