Mat. Then I tell ye what, Mr. Whipple; I’m tired of being handed over with stamped paper.
Whi. (earnestly). There was no stamp on it; indeed, there was no stamp on it. It was an I.O.U.
Mat. It’s the same thing. I like Tom Cobb better than I like you, and if he’ll marry me in a month I’ll have him, and if he won’t, why I’ll talk to you. There’s your answer now, and don’t bother again.
Whi. In a month! (Aside.) In a month! He shan’t marry her in a month! If I can only manage to get him out of the way, and keep him there for a few weeks! (Suddenly.) I’ll do it! It’ll cost money, but I’ll do it.
Enter Tom Cobb.
Ah! Tom, my boy, I’m delighted to see you; how uncommonly jolly you’re looking, to be sure!
Tom (very miserably). Yes, I should say I was looking uncommonly jolly.
Whi. Why, what’s the matter?
Tom. Why, a good many things; and look here, Whipple, I wish next time you want a godfather for a nameless pauper you’d choose somebody else.