_Ton._ Mike, I’ve a great mind to take the old man at his word.
_Mike._ If yer don’t, yer a goose. He gives his consent, and ye’ll have it in writin’, too. Go it, honey!
_Crusty._ There you are: there’s a note for the parson, and another for old Hobson. Give my regards to the lady, and tell her she’s a goose if she misses such a chance of getting a husband.
_Ton._ Thank you, Mr. Crusty. I’ll be off at once. Mike, you look after the shop. Don’t let old Crusty out of here for half an hour, mind.
_Crusty._ Come, come! I want that horse and chaise in half an hour.
_Ton._ All right, sir. I’ll be back before then. Mike, give the old gentleman a shave. Good-by! I’m off. (_Exit, R._)
_Mike._ Good luck to yez! Here’s an old shoe for luck. (_Throws a shoe off, R., which hits ZEB in head._)
_Zeb._ Stop, yer fool--will yer? By golly, you almos’ broke my jaw!
_Mike._ Faith, if I had, ’twould been a savin’ for the shop.
_Crusty._ The young man’s off. Good joke on the girl’s father! Well, it won’t cost me any thing; so I can afford to give my consent. (_Takes off handkerchief and dicky._) Now, my man, I’ll trouble you for a shave.
_Mike._ A shave! (_Aside._) Oh, murther! how could I go to work to shave this ould rhinoceros?
_Crusty._ Come, be lively! I want to get out of this at once. I’m wanted at the house.
_Mike._ Oh, murther and Irish! at the house is it? (_Aside._) Faith, that’ll niver do. (_Aloud._) Here, sit down here, sir.
_Crusty._ (_Sits in chair, R. C._) A close shave, mind!
_Mike._ A close shave is it? (_Aside._) By the blissed St. Patrick, what’s that? (_Enter SIMPER, R._)
_Simper._ Now, weally, ’tis disgustingly vulgaw,--it is weally,--the ideah of a wefined gentleman being compelled to entaw such a howid place, to have his chin shaved, and his whiskaws twimmed: it is weally!
_Mike._ Your turn next, sir: take a seat.
_Simper._ My turn next? Do you weally mean to say that I must wait? Aw!
_Mike._ Faith, honey, you must: there’s niver a wun to shave you at all, at all!
_Simper._ But I can’t wait,--I can’t weally. I have a pwessing engagement. A dear, delightful cweecher is fondly waiting my coming,--she is weally.
_Crusty._ (_Aside._) Then all I’ve got to say, she’s got a job. Here, you slow coach! am I never to have a shave?