O’Fi. Don’t interrupt an honest burst of feelin’ in an old military officer. For months I’ve looked forward like a simple ould soldier to meetin’ those bills, and now I’ve destroyed them, and deproived meself of a pleasure which might have lasted me the next twenty years! But I’ll expose him. It’s a croime of some sort, pretendin’ to be dead when ye’re not. It’s obtainin burial under false pretences, if it’s nothing else! What’s that?
Mat. (with paper in her hand). It’s his will! (Laughing.)
O’Fi. (indignantly). His will!
Mat. Yes; would ye have a gintleman doi without a will?
O’Fi. A gintleman! A beggarly scoundrel! (Opens it.) Ha, ha! He leaves ye everything, Matilda! It’s duly signed and witnessed, all quite in form! By my soul, I congratulate ye on yer accession to fortune and prosperity!
Mat. It’s just done to give colour to his death. Don’t be hasty, dear. It’s the first time I’ve been mentioned in a will, and maybe it’ll be the last. (Laughing.)
O’Fi. (furious). Mentioned in a will! It’s an outrage—a sacrilege, I tell ye—an insult to a simple ould officer and his deluded gyurl, to mention them in a swindlin’ document that’s not worth the ink it’s written with! This is how I treat it, Matilda. (Crumpling it up.) This is how I treat it (throws it in the fire); and if that thief, Tom Cobb, was here, I’d crumple him too and send him after it!
Enter Whipple, breathless and much excited.
Whi. Oh, Colonel!
O’Fi. Well, sorr?