Host. A whole one, I hope.
Grain. 'Tis indelicate of you, Citizen Prosper, to jest about such things.
Host. I'll tell you what, Shrieking Pumice-stone, you—your family history bores me. Do you think I'm here to listen to every Tom, Dick, or Harry o' a ragamuffin telling me whom he has killed? What's all that go to do with me? I take it you wish something of me.
Grain. Ay, truly. Citizen Prosper; I've come to ask you for work.
Host (sarcastically). I would have you mark that there are no aunts to murder in my place—this is a house of entertainment.
Grain. Oh, I found the once quite enough. I want to become a respectable member of society—I was recommended to come to you.
Host. By whom, if I may ask?
Grain. A charming young man whom they put in my cell three days ago. Now he's alone. His name's Gaston!... and you know him.
Host. Gaston! Now I know why I've missed him for three evenings. One of my best interpreters of pickpockets. He told yarns—ah! it made 'em split their sides.
Grain. Quite so. And now they've nabbed him.