Jen. Poor fellow.
Spread. Isn’t it injudicious, at his age?
Jen. Oh, I don’t think it will hurt him.
Spread. I really think it will. (He motions to her to send him away.)
Jen. Do you? Wilcox, Mr. Spreadbrow is terribly distressed because you are working in the sun.
Wil. That’s mortal good of him. (Aside, winking.) They want me to go. All right; he can’t do much harm now. (Aloud.) Well, sir, the sun is hot, and I’ll go and look after the cucumbers away yonder, right at the other end of the garden. (Wilcox going—Spreadbrow is delighted.)
Jen. No, no, no!—don’t go away! Stop here, only put on your hat. That’s what Mr. Spreadbrow meant. (Wilcox puts on his hat.) There, now are you happy?
Spread. I suppose it will soon be his dinner-time?
Jen. Oh, he has dined. You have dined, haven’t you, Wilcox?