FRANK. Yes, yes—oh, I wonder where grandmother keeps her salt and vinegar!
Runs off, L. door—ADELAIDE jumps up, runs to the door and bolts it behind him—SIMON enters, R. door, tipsy, a bottle in his hand, and still wearing the morning gown and cap.
SIMON. (singing) Grief is a folly,
We’ll sing and be jolly!
ADELA. Mr. Mitchell, in that dreadful state!
SIMON. Where are you, Mr. Sir? it’s me, Simon—you must wait upon yourself—I’m going to bed.
ADELA. (aside) Simon! the servant, ah, I understand. (aloud, to SIMON) Oh, it is you, is it?
SIMON. (aside) The young lady! (dropping into easy chair and acting the old man again) My wife will be back directly—
ADELA. (pulling him from chair) Yes; and Mr. Mitchell will also be back directly.
SIMON. (frightened and placing the bottle on easy chair) Mr. Mitchell!