MILLIKEN.—How do you mean I know? confound your impudence!

JOHN.—Lady Kicklebury took it—your mother-in-law took it—went out a-visiting—Ham Common, Petersham, Twick'nam—doose knows where. She, and her footman, and her span'l dog.

MILLIKEN.—Well, sir, suppose her ladyship DID take the carriage? Hasn't she a perfect right? And if the carriage was gone, I want to know, John, why the devil the pony-chaise wasn't sent with the groom? Am I to bring a bonnet-box and a hamper of fish in my own hands, I should like to know?

JOHN.—Heh! [laughs.]

MILLIKEN.—Why do you grin, you Cheshire cat?

JOHN.—Your mother-in-law had the carriage; and your mother sent for the pony-chaise. Your Pa wanted to go and see the Wicar of Putney. Mr. Bonnington don't like walking when he can ride.

MILLIKEN.—And why shouldn't Mr. Bonnington ride, sir, as long as there's a carriage in my stable? Mr. Bonnington has had the gout, sir! Mr. Bonnington is a clergyman, and married to my mother. He has EVERY title to my respect.

JOHN.—And to your pony-chaise—yes, sir.

MILLIKEN.—And to everything he likes in this house, sir.

JOHN.—What a good fellow you are, sir! You'd give your head off your shoulders, that you would. Is the fish for dinner to-day? Band-box for my lady, I suppose, sir? [Looks in]—Turban, feathers, bugles, marabouts, spangles—doose knows what. Yes, it's for her ladyship. [To Page.] Charles, take this band-box to her ladyship's maid. [To his master.] What sauce would you like with the turbot? Lobster sauce or Hollandaise? Hollandaise is best—most wholesome for you. Anybody besides Captain Touchit coming to dinner?

MILLIKEN.—No one that I know of.

JOHN.—Very good. Bring up a bottle of the brown hock? He likes the brown hock, Touchit does. [Exit JOHN.]

Enter Children. They run to MILLIKEN.

BOTH.—How d'you do, Papa! How do you do, Papa!

MILLIKEN.—Kiss your old father, Arabella. Come here, George—What?

GEORGE.—Don't care for kissing—kissing's for gals. Have you brought me that bat from London?

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?

ARABELLA.—Is it a story, Papa? I don't care for stories in general. I like something instructive and serious. Grandmamma Bonnington and grandpapa say—

GEORGE.—He's NOT your grandpapa.

ARABELLA.—He IS my grandpapa.

GEORGE.—Oh, you great story! Look! look! there's a cab. [Runs out. The head of a Hansom cab is seen over the garden-gate. Bell rings. Page comes. Altercation between Cabman and Captain TOUCHIT appears to go on, during which]

MILLIKEN.—Come and kiss your old father, Arabella. He's hungry for kisses.

ARABELLA.—Don't. I want to go and look at the cab; and to tell Captain Touchit that he mustn't use naughty words. [Runs towards garden. Page is seen carrying a carpet-bag.]

Enter TOUCHIT through the open window smoking a cigar.

TOUCHIT.—How d'ye do, Milliken? How are tallows, hey, my noble merchant? I have brought my bag, and intend to sleep—

GEORGE.—I say, godpapa—

TOUCHIT.—Well, godson!

GEORGE.—Give us a cigar!

TOUCHIT.—Oh, you enfant terrible!

MILLIKEN [wheezily].—Ah—ahem—George Touchit! you wouldn't mind—a—smoking that cigar in the garden, would you? Ah—ah!

TOUCHIT.—Hullo! What's in the wind now? You used to be a most inveterate smoker, Horace.

MILLIKEN.—The fact is—my mother-in-law—Lady Kicklebury—doesn't like it, and while she's with us, you know—

TOUCHIT.—Of course, of course [throws away cigar]. I beg her ladyship's pardon. I remember when you were courting her daughter she used not to mind it.

MILLIKEN.—Don't—don't allude to those times. [He looks up at his wife's picture.]

GEORGE.—My mamma was a Kicklebury. The Kickleburys are the oldest family in all the world. My name is George Kicklebury Milliken, of Pigeoncot, Hants; the Grove, Richmond, Surrey; and Portland Place, London, Esquire—my name is.

TOUCHIT.—You have forgotten Billiter Street, hemp and tallow merchant.

GEORGE.—Oh, bother! I don't care about that. I shall leave that when I'm a man: when I'm a man and come into my property.

MILLIKEN.—You come into your property?

GEORGE.—I shall, you know, when you're dead, Papa. I shall have this house, and Pigeoncot; and the house in town—no, I don't mind about the house in town—and I shan't let Bella live with me—no, I won't.

BELLA.—No; I won't live with YOU. And I'LL have Pigeoncot.

GEORGE.—You shan't have Pigeoncot. I'll have it: and the ponies: and I won't let you ride them—and the dogs, and you shan't have even a puppy to play with and the dairy and won't I have as much cream as I like—that's all!

TOUCHIT.—What a darling boy! Your children are brought up beautifully, Milliken. It's quite delightful to see them together.

GEORGE.—And I shall sink the name of Milliken, I shall.

MILLIKEN.—Sink the name? why, George?

GEORGE.—Because the Millikens are nobodies—grandmamma says they are nobodies. The Kickleburys are gentlemen, and came over with William the Conqueror.

BELLA.—I know when that was. One thousand one hundred and one thousand one hundred and onety-one!

GEORGE.—Bother when they came over! But I know this, when I come into the property I shall sink the name of Milliken.

MILLIKEN.—So you are ashamed of your father's name, are you, George, my boy?

GEORGE.—Ashamed! No, I ain't ashamed. Only Kicklebury is sweller. I know it is. Grandmamma says so.

BELLA.—MY grandmamma does not say so. MY dear grandmamma says that family pride is sinful, and all belongs to this wicked world; and that in a very few years what our names are will not matter.

GEORGE.—Yes, she says so because her father kept a shop; and so did Pa's father keep a sort of shop—only Pa's a gentleman now.

TOUCHIT.—Darling child! How I wish I were married! If I had such a dear boy as you, George, do you know what I would give him?

GEORGE [quite pleased].—What would you give him, god-papa?

TOUCHIT.—I would give him as sound a flogging as ever boy had, my darling. I would whip this nonsense out of him. I would send him to school, where I would pray that he might be well thrashed: and if when he came home he was still ashamed of his father, I would put him apprentice to a chimney-sweep—that's what I would do.

GEORGE.—I'm glad you're not my father, that's all.

BELLA.—And I'M glad you're not my father, because you are a wicked man!

MILLIKEN.—Arabella!

BELLA.—Grandmamma says so. He is a worldly man, and the world is wicked. And he goes to the play: and he smokes, and he says—

TOUCHIT.—Bella, what do I say?

BELLA.—Oh, something dreadful! You know you do! I heard you say it to the cabman.

TOUCHIT.—So I did, so I did! He asked me fifteen shillings from Piccadilly, and I told him to go to—to somebody whose name begins with a D.

CHILDREN.—Here's another carriage passing.

BELLA.—The Lady Rumble's carriage.

GEORGE.—No, it ain't: it's Captain Boxer's carriage [they run into