Leave it to me. Come along.

Tim. I’m wid yees. If there’s to be a shindy, count me in.

Loop. Monsieur, I be vat you call in ze dark ver much all over.

Pic. Yaw, it pe all covered mit de dark like de moonshine. [Exit Loopstitch and Picket, R.

Hor. What a set of stupid donkeys! If they manage to circumvent my respected parent, I’ll forgive them. (Exchanges jacket for coat, and puts on hat. Stage dark.) How dark it is!

Clap. (Outside, R.) You’re very prompt, sir.

Eben. (Outside, R.) I am always prompt. Is the room ready?

Clap. (Outside, R.) Yes, sir; walk this way.

Hor. There he is, right on time. There’s sure to be a rumpus, and I’m bound to see the fun. [Exit, L.

Enter Clapboard, with a lighted candle, which he places on table, followed by Ebenezer.

Eben. Now, sir, I’ve caught you at your tricks! Why, he’s gone!

Clap. Why, you certainly didn’t expect to find him here.

Eben. I certainly did. Where is he?

Clap. He’s probably at Jobson’s, over the way. But he’ll be back soon. He’ll be delighted to see you.

Eben. Clapboard, you lie! you know he won’t.

Clap. Come, come, Mr. Crotchet, don’t insult a man in his own room.

Eben. ’Tis false! it’s my room; and you may take yourself out of it just as soon as you can!

Clap. You don’t mean to stay here!

Eben. Yes, I do. I’ve had another note from my unknown correspondent. The object of his tender attachment visits him every evening, and I’m bound to see her.

Clap. O, pshaw, Mr. Crotchet! you’ve been humbugged!

Eben. I know it; but I’ll be humbugged no longer; so here I’ll stay to unmask the hypocrite!

Clap. Well, stay, then; but if you’re made uncomfortable, don’t blame me.

Eben. What do you mean?

Clap. No matter; I’ve cautioned you. Keep your eyes open, and don’t blame me. Remember you have been cautioned. Good night.

Eben. Clapboard, Clapboard—What does he mean? Can there be any danger? I’m an old fool! What business have I down in this unfrequented place, all alone? I’ll go back. No, I won’t! Horace would laugh and chuckle! He shan’t do that! Who’s afraid? I’ll make myself comfortable on that lounge; and when he comes, he shall learn how terrible is the vengeance of an enraged and injured parent. (Reclines upon lounge. Noise overhead; jumps up.) What’s that? It’s that infernal soldier! Clapboard said he walks in his sleep. Suppose he should come here—with a loaded musket too! Gracious! (Trombone heard outside.) There’s the tailor practising. What a confounded din!

Oak. (Sings, outside, very loud.) “My bark is on the sea.”

Eben. There’s that sailor going it!

Tim. (Outside, sings.) “Ould kittles to mind! Ould kittles to mind!”

Eben. And there’s the tinker. (Trombone, “ould kittles,” and “bark upon the sea,” all together.) What a confounded din! I wish I was well out of it.

Enter Picket, with musket, slowly, on