CRUM. Come in, my dear.
BET. Pattens and all, sir?
CRUM. No. You may leave them outside.
BET. If it’s the same to you, sir, I’d rather not.
CRUM. Then take them off, at all events.
BET. Of course, sir. (_takes off her pattens, and comes forward,
carrying them in her hand_) It isn’t likely I should go for to walk
on a carpet, especially when the roads are so dreadful muddy.
(_putting her pattens down on table with a slam_)
CRUM. Zounds! Don’t put ’em on the table! (_takes pattens from
her_)
BET. I’m sure I don’t know what to do with ’em, so put ’em where you
like.
CRUM. Ha, ha! Heyday! I think I ought to know that face again.
BET. If you ever saw it before, you certainly ought.
CRUM. Have I not met you rather frequently of late, walking of an
evening with our young clerk, Joseph Harris?
BET. Yes, sir. We’ve rather delicate constitutions both of us, so we
generally go out for a little fresh air and exercise every Monday,
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, after work hours. We
can’t get out any other evenings, sir. I suppose, you’re Mr. Crummy!
You’re not Mr. Mouser. We all know _him!_
CRUM. We! Who?
BET. Why, all us girls at the laundry over the way. Ah, there’s a
pattern for a husband! ’Tisn’t every woman, sir, as gets a Mouser. No,
sir--Mousers are scarce.
CRUM. And yet you’d take your chance and marry Joseph Harris?
BET. Just try me! And now I think of it, sir, he has told me more
than once that you said if ever he found a nice, genteel, respectable
young woman that he’d like to marry, you’d do something for him,
sir.