BETTY. Yea, father, I put him there.
COTTON. [Going to the clock and opening it.] Of a truth, the evidence, all told, is here. Thou wert of a certainty in the clock. [Takes out the detached pendulum. Steps back and surveys the timepiece, whose hands clearly indicate a time long passed or not yet come.] And as far as pendulums are concerned [looking ruefully at the one in his hand], thou certainly wert no improve——
CHARLES. Aye, that I'll warrant. And may I never more be called to fulfil such position; the requirements be far too exacting for one of my build and constitution.
COTTON. But what extremity hath induced thee to take up thine abode in such a place?
[Lays the pendulum aside and gives Charles his entire attention.
CHARLES. Why, that came all in the course of events as I take it. When I returned a short time ago, hard upon mine heels came Adonijah; and, being loath either to leave the field or share it, I hid within the clock. Once there, the temptation to help time in covering its course grew strong upon me in the hope that Adonijah, misled by the lateness of the hour, would soon depart. Only I looked not for such a departure. Judge me not too harshly, sire, for I love thy daughter, and if thou wilt give thy consent to our marriage I will do all that becometh a man to deserve such treasure.
COTTON. I like not thy frivolous manner of wearing hair that is not thine own; it becomes thee not. And I strongly mistrust thine attitude toward the more serious things of life.
CHARLES. If my wig standeth between me and my heart's desire, why, I'll have no wig at all. [He pulls the wig off and tosses it aside. Betty, with a little cry, picks it up and smooths its disarranged curls.] And as for mine outlook on life, I promise thee that hath but matched the outer trappings, and can be doffed as quickly. I am as serious beneath all outward levity as any sober-minded judge, and can act accordingly.
COTTON. See to it that thou suit the action to those words. My heart is strangely moved toward thee, yet I would ponder the matter more deeply. [Turns to Betty, who has been absent-mindedly twirling the curls on the wig.] And where is thy voice, my daughter? Thou art strangely silent—[as an afterthought] for the once. But it is of small wonder, since thou hast had enough excitement for one evening. Methinks that scoundrel, Adonijah, needeth following up. Do thou remain with Betty, Charles, and I will hasten after him.
CHARLES. Nay, thou need'st not trouble thyself regarding Adonijah. He hath much too wholesome a regard for the ducking-stool to cause further mischief.