(shouts). Thanks, thanks. (Drops voice.) You intolerable old brute!

Coddle. Ha!

Whitwell (bowing politely). If you’re ever my father-in-law, I’ll show you how to treat a gentleman.

Coddle. His father-in-law! I’ll give Eglantine to a coal-heaver first,—the animal! (Shouts.) Pray be seated, (drops voice) and choke yourself.

Whitwell (shouts). One gets a very fine appetite after a hard day’s sport. (Drops voice.) Atrocious old ruffian!

Coddle. Old ruffian! This is insufferable. (They sit.)

Whitwell (shouts). Will not Miss Coddle dine with us to-day?

Coddle. Jackanapes! Not if I know it. (Shouts.) She’s not well. This soup is cold, I fear. (Offers some.)

Whitwell. Eat it yourself, old foozle. (Bows courteously a refusal.)

Coddle. Infamous puppy! (Shouts.) Nay, I insist. (Drops voice.) It’s smoked,—just fit for you.

Whitwell (shouts). Thanks, no: never eat soup. (Drops voice.) Old savage, lucky for you I adore your lovely daughter!

Coddle. Shall I pitch this tureen at his head?—Jane! (Enter Jane with a dish.) Take off the soup, Jane. This gentleman won’t have any. What have you there?

Jane (shouts). Partridge and spinach, sir. (Puts dish on table.)

Whitwell (shouts). A delicious dish, Mr. Coddle,—my favorite.

Coddle (shouts). Yes? (Puts partridge on his own plate.) Jane can’t boil spinach. I hate spinach. (Helps Whitwell to the spinach.)

Whitwell (rises). I can’t stand this. This is a little too much!

Coddle (shouts). Nothing more? Good! (Drops voice.) Get rid of you all the sooner.—Jane, cigars. Give me a Havana; hand Mr. Whittermat a stogy. (Crosses to R.)

Whitwell (aside, furious). How much longer shall I stand this?

Jane (aside to Whitwell). Hush! He don’t know you hear him. Don’t upset your fish-kittle.

Whitwell (aside). Very well. I’d like to drop him into it.

Jane. Hoity, toity! Now see me. We’ll have a little fun with the old sheep.

Coddle. Jane, where are those cigars?

Jane (takes box from console, and offers it; shouts). Here they be. (Drops voice.) Jackass! tyrant! muttonhead! I hope they’ll turn your stomick.

Coddle (seizes her ear). What? You infamous minx! I a jackass? I a tyrant? I a muttonhead? (Pulls her round.) I’m a sheep, am I? I’m a mollycoddle, am I? You call me an idiot, do you?

Jane (screams). Ah! he hears, he hears.

Coddle. You’ll have a little fun out of the old sheep, will you? You tell me to shut up, eh? Clap me into an asylum, will you? (Lets go her ear.)

Jane. A miracle! I’m dead. (Crosses to L., screaming.)

(Enter Eglantine.)

Eglantine. Papa! For heaven’s sake, what is the matter?

Whitwell (stupefied). What, Mr. Coddle! I thought you were deaf. Is it possible you can hear?

Coddle (shouts). Perfectly well, sir; and so it seems can you. I will repeat, if you wish it, every one of those delectable compliments you paid me five minutes since.

Whitwell (to Eglantine). I can’t believe my ears. Miss Coddle, has he been shamming deafness, then, all this time?

Eglantine (shouts). No, indeed. A doctor cured his deafness only half an hour ago.

Jane. Ah! Dear old master, was it kind to deceive me in this fashion? Why didn’t ye tell me? Ah! now ye can hear, I love you tenderer than ever.

Coddle. Tell you, you pig, you minx! I tell you to walk out of my house.

Whitwell (aside). I’ll take you into my service.

Coddle (loud to Whitwell). Come, sir, you too. You are an impostor, sir. Leave my house.

Eglantine. Ah, papa! I love him.

Whitwell. What do I hear? You love me, Eglantine?

Eglantine (shrieks). Ah-h-h! I forgot you could hear. (Hides her face in her hands.)

Whitwell. Thank Heaven, I can! or I should have lost the rapture of that sweet avowal. Mr. Coddle, I love—I adore your daughter. You heard a moment since the confession that escaped her innocent lips. Surely you cannot turn a deaf ear to the voice of nature, and see us both miserable for life. Remember, sir, you have now no deaf ear to turn. Be merciful.

Coddle. What, sir! Give you my daughter after all your frightful insults? Never!

Whitwell. Remember how you treated me, sir; and reflect, too, that you began it. Insults are not insults unless intended to be heard. For every thing I said, I apologize from the bottom of my heart. Ah, sir! be considerate, lenient.

Coddle (after a pause). Do you retract “old ruffian”?