Mr. Crusty. Is not this beyond all endurance? And yet this wild girl is the most kindly-disposed servant I have had for the last two years; who plunders me least, and sometimes has a heart of sympathy. That Dick Driver takes up too much of her time. I must marry her off; I see that clearly.
The bell rings. Sophy enters and says:
Mrs. Simpkins has called over to see Mr. Crusty. What shall I say, Sir?
Mr. Crusty. Tell her I am lying down before the fire, in great misery, and can't see her; and when she goes out, bolt the door. Thank her for the duck you eat for me, you minx.
Sophy goes out and says, aside:
Mad still!
Mr. Crusty, [solus.] Was ever such a wretched man as I? Left by my nieces for their new-found homes and husbands, I sit here for hours alone, with no body to care for me but this gal, who comes between me and all the nice things my lady friends send me day by day; all because I did not marry at twenty-five. A most miserable mistake I have made of it. Alas! 'tis now too late.
Sophy enters with tea things and a loaf of bread. Mr. Crusty takes his seat, and exclaims:
And is this all? This is prisoner's fare!
Sophy. And are you not a prisoner! Have n't you said so, a hundred times this very day?
Mr. Crusty. What sort of bread is this? [taking up the loaf and looking at it angrily.]
Sophy. It is wheat bread, Sir. I bought it at Mr. Havennus' for wheat.
Mr. Crusty, [rising in a rage.] I tell you it is rye bread.
Sophy. I say it is not rye.
Mr. Crusty. Get you gone, you huzzy, and take your rye bread with you.
Exit Sophy, with the bread saying:
It is not rye, if I die for 't. [Aside.] Is n't he mad?
