Whi. Yes, Matilda. But we don’t pay people to die: they pay us to kill ’em. It’s the rule of the profession.
[Exeunt Matilda and Whipple.
Enter Tom Cobb, preceded by Footman. Tom is very seedy and dirty, and his boots are in holes.
Footman. If you’ll take a seat, sir, I’ll tell the Colonel you want to see him. What name shall I say?
Tom (aside). If I give him my real name he’ll faint. (Aloud.) The Duke of Northumberland. (Aside.) That’ll draw him. (Aloud.) I haven’t a card. (Footman is incredulous. He is about to go, but returns and removes tray with sherry; then exit.) Well, nicely the old scoundrel’s feathered his nest, upon my word! Real Axminster, satin furniture, ancestors, busts! And this has been going on for three months, and I only heard of it yesterday. Why, he’s made me accessory to a forgery, and I’m being advertised for in every paper in the kingdom! Why, it’s penal servitude! Who’d think an Irish colonel could be such a scoundrel! Well, you never know when you’re safe in this world; upon my soul, you don’t. I never met a man in my life whose manner and appearance inspired me with so much confidence.
Enter O’Fipp.
Well, upon my word, Colonel O’Fipp, you’re a nice officer, you are! I make a will more by way of a joke than anything else, and you have the face to apply it to the property of a friendless old man who went by my name! Why, it’s robbery! it’s forgery! and Docket and Tape are offering £50 reward to any one who can give information about me! Now, look here—destroy that will and restore the property, or I’ll answer this advertisement this very minute. I will; upon my soul and honour, I will—there!
O’Fi. I believe I have the honour of addressin’ the Jook of Northumberland.
Tom. Oh, don’t talk nonsense, Colonel; you know me well enough.
O’Fi. Am I to onderstand, sorr, that ye’re not the distinguished nobleman you represented yerself to be?