MILLIKEN.—Yes. Here's the bat; and here's the ball [takes one from pocket]—and—
GEORGE.—Where's the wickets, Papa. O-o-o—where's the wickets? [howls.]
MILLIKEN.—My dear, darling boy! I left them at the office. What a silly papa I was to forget them! Parkins forgot them.
GEORGE.—Then turn him away, I say! Turn him away! [He stamps.]
MILLIKEN.—What! an old, faithful clerk and servant of your father and grandfather for thirty years past? An old man, who loves us all, and has nothing but our pay to live on?
ARABELLA.—Oh, you naughty boy!
GEORGE.—I ain't a naughty boy.
ARABELLA.—You are a naughty boy.
GEORGE.—He! he! he! he! [Grins at her.]
MILLIKEN.—Hush, children! Here, Arabella darling, here is a book for you. Look—aren't they pretty pictures?