DAVID. (_without_) Bring him along--if he won't come agreeable, drag
him in by the hair of his head.
_Enter DAVID, running, L. C., and dragging in
POSTLETHWAITE, his dress disordered, DAVID carries
a green wide-awake in his hand--PEGGY following._
DAV. Here, missus, we've got the robber.
MRS. S. (_holding RATCLIFFE'S hand_) So have I!
DAVID. Here be the desperate villain, ma'am, and
here be his desperate green wide-awake; (_shewing
hat_) and what's more, we won't let him go.
MRS. S. No more will I! (_seeing POSTLE._) Cousin
Postlethwaite!
PEGGY. (_running forward_) Lawks! yes--so it be.
Oh, Master Percy! (_throwing her arms round
POSTLETHWAITE_)
POS. (_throwing her off_) Don't be a fool, Peggy.
As I said before, it rumples one's front.
MRS. S. (_making a sign, all come forward and
surround her_) My good friends, you need give
yourselves no further trouble, I have recovered my
property. My fifteen thousand pounds are here.
(_shows pocket book_)
POS. You don't mean that! (_very tenderly_) Oh, my ever beloved
cousin! (_aside to RATCLIFFE_) Where's my letter? (_again to MRS.
SOMERTON, and still more tenderly_) I repeat--oh, my ever beloved
cousin! (_again aside to RATCLIFFE_) Where's my letter?
RAT. (_aside to him_) I gave it to Mrs. Somerton--it's all right.
POS. All right! I'm horribly afraid it's all wrong!
MRS. S. Yes, cousin, I've read your cruel words, and as it seems you
won't have me---- (_with affected grief_)
POS. But I will. (_very tenderly_) Dry your tears ever-beloved one--I
_will_ have you.
MRS. S. What, in spite of the presence of a fine dashing young man
under my roof in the middle of the night--eh, cousin?
POS. (_still very tenderly_) What of that? I'm not so very particular.
MRS. S. But think of the scandal mongers of the neighbourhood--eh,
cousin?
POS. Never mind--I'm desperate!
MRS. S. So am I--and, therefore, as the only means of preserving my
reputation, I gave my hand to him who has compromised it.
(_giving her hand to RATCLIFFE._)
POS. What, Charley Ratcliffe?
PEGGY. (_aside_) Then that's Mr. C. R. after all.
RAT. (_to POSTLETHWAITE_) Yes, my dear friend, the gigantic
housebreaker, seven feet high, with two pair of pistols in each of his
brawny hands, stands before you.
POS. You? Poo--poo! Where are your whiskers?--where's your imperial?
RAT. In my pocket--ha, ha!
POS. (_after a short pause_) I say, Master Charley, what sort of a
game have you been playing here?
MRS. S. (_smiling_) A game of fright.