SCENE IX.
Reading edition
SCENE IX.
Chamber, large cupboard in centre.—NEWGATE and BOLT discovered at back, taking plate, and putting it in bag. NEWGATE has a lighted lantern.—Dark.
NEW. Come, bustle about, man; you’ll see twice as well if you take that mask off.
BOLT. (Aside.) My head would follow, I’m thinking.—No, I can see.
NEW. That’s right. There go the spoons—there’s the salver—there’s the god-papa’s mug.
BOLT. Yes, we are in for the plate.
NEW. Ho, ho! you call that a joke?
BOLT. (Aside.) More than I do anything else. If I am caught with this fellow, I shall be hanged; and if I move, I shall be shot.
NEW. Don’t mumble, but pack, pack!
Enter CUTAWAY, HARRIET, COTTON, MISS BROWN, and MRS. STITCHLEY, L. H.
COT. My dear Mr. Cutaway, you should have explained to me you were the son of the great bobbin-maker, and my ideas on the subject would have been very different.—Come, ladies, if you can find your way in the dark. I have just discharged my servants, and am forced to wait on myself.
(Goes to closet, R.H. for match-box, &c.)
NEW. There’s some one in the room—we are in the wrong box. Put up that cup!
BOLT. Ah, I think we have taken a cup too much.
NEW. It’s all up—we are floored. There they are—damn it, take this bull-dog—defend yourself.
(Gives BOLT a pistol.)
BOLT. So I will. (Holds it at NEWGATE’S head, and throws off mask.) Hollo! thieves! house! ho!
(MIZZLE enters L. with candle—stage light.)
COT. What the devil!—Why, Bolt!
BOLT. How d’ye do, sir?
COT. And this gentleman——?
BOLT. Came to lighten you of your odd moveables,—to fork out your knives, and dish your plates.
COT. Give me your hand, Bolt; you’re a fine fellow!
NEW. Bolt, they call him; I wish that Bolt was shot.
(They put NEWGATE in cupboard, C.)
CUT. I think I have seen your face before, sir?
BOLT. You have; but pray don’t mention—don’t bear malice.
MISS B. That face, too! oh, horror!
COT. This is my foreman, ladies, Mr. Bolt, whom, for his valuable services, I intend instantly to take into partnership.
MISS B. (To COTTON.) Sir! sir!
BOLT. Ahem!—There is one thing I have not confess’d; I mean, sir, my passion for this lady.
MIZ. Wonderful!
MISS B. How!
BOLT. (Runs to her, and whispers.) Say nothing, and you shall be my real wife.—Sir, you will consent to our union?—(Aside.) It’s a horrid plunge, but I can’t help it.
MIZ. (Aside.) Egad, this is jumping from the frying-pan into the fire. I hope the old woman won’t be looking after me.
COT. (Takes MRS. STITCHLEY’S hand.) This, Harriet, will be your mother-in-law.
MIZ. (Aside.) A lucky escape!
HAR. Then, papa, there will be three weddings.
CUT. Yes, we can give away one another.
MIZ. While Mr. Addison is content with merely being a spectator.
COT. Come, this troublesome day’s work is well over. You have some time had my forgiveness, Harriet; I wish not to say anything unpleasant—but when I contrast your conduct with that of these two excellent young men——
BOLT. Oh, sir, we have done but our duty.—Come forward, Bobby.—I repeat it, our duty: our duty is to amuse these ladies and gentlemen,—and if anything we have done has contributed to that desirable end, we certainly think our “Day has been well Spent.”
THE END.
Savill, Printer, St. Martin’s Lane, Charing Cross.