John—Neither, good mother, neither. I spoke figuratively, when I said my heart was bruised.
Mother—And an’t figures facts? How strangely you talk, dear Johnny. Did not your old mother go to school, and did she not cipher as far as Distraction? And when you say your poor heart is bruised figuratively, you talk from the Rule of Distraction, don’t you? Mr. Daboll used to say so, before you was born. Go to, my son, go to, for your old mother is not so far distracted as not to understand figures as far as Distraction.
Father (just emerging from a profound nap)—What is all this row about?
Mother—Some rowdy has bruised Johnny’s heart.
Father—Where is my hat? I’ll pursue the rascal.
John—Hold, father, hold, and you, mother, please calm your nerves, and listen to my brief but plaintive story.
Father—Go on, dear son.
Mother—And we will judge impartially.
John—I have left Mr. Bennett.
Mother—Good Lord! For what?