Waiter. [going]. Call me up again, nurse, if he won't mind you. Do you hear what I say, Mr. Brummell?
Brum. Yes—yes—I'll be very good, nurse—I'll be very good.
Waiter. Well, it will be a lucky day when we get rid of this business!
[Exit.
Old W. But think of the poor creature turned into the streets! He'd die upon the nighest door-step!
Nurse. Can't be helped—out he goes to-night and no mistake! I'll nuss him no longer—and the landlord wants the room. The men are comin' to whitewash it at sunrise to-morrow.
Old W. Deary me! Well—good-day!
Nurse. Good-day, child. You'll find me at home to-morrow. Good-bye!
[Exit Old Woman.
Brum. [tottering to an old bureau, sits before it]. Dinner at four. Nurse, nurse! my glass and razors—come!