Hewlett.—Don't drop it, and be very careful of it, sir.
Nightingale.—Yes, Hewlett.
Hewlett.—Silence in the dormitory! Any boy who opens his mouth, I'll murder him. Now, sir, are not you the boy what can sing?
Nightingale.—Yes, Hewlett.
Hewlett.—Chant, then, till I go to sleep, and if I wake when you stop, you'll have this at your head.
[Master HEWLETT lays his Bluchers on the bed, ready to shy at Master Nightingale's head in the case contemplated.]
Nightingale (timidly).—Please, Hewlett?
Hewlett.—Well, sir?
Nightingale.—May I put on my trousers, please?
Hewlett.—No, sir. Go on, or I'll—