_The Performers return from the drawing-room, followed by
faint applause_.
_Mr. Pushington_. Went capitally, that syllable, eh? (_No response._)
You might have played up to me a little more than you did--you others.
You let me do everything!
_Miss Larkspur_. You never let any of us get a word in!
_Mr. Pushington_. Because you all talked at once, that was all. Now
then--"ill." I'll be a celebrated Doctor, and you all come to me one
by one, and say you're _ill_--see?
[_Attires himself for the rôle of a Physician in a
dressing-gown and an old yeomanry helmet._
_Mr. Whipster_ (_huffily_). Seems to me I may as well go and sit with
the audience--I'm no use _here_!
_Mr. Pushington_. Oh, yes, WHIPSTER, I want you to be my confidential
butler, and show the patients in.
[_Mr. W. accepts--with a view to showing PUSHINGTON that
other people can act as well as he._