Page:Morton - My First Fit of the Gout.pdf/10

4 MY FIRST FIT OF THE GOUT. wife's happiness, and save to his country the life of its nursling Hannibal, Captain Arundel. BEL. Exactly. LADY J. How disinterested--how noble! BEL. Ain't it? But how shall we plague this husband? LADY J. My study has been to please him. BEL. And that's the reason he plagues you. Dear, dear--here are two women who cannot contrive a bit of mischief! Why, we are a disgrace to our sex! I have it,--make him jealous! LADY J. No,--I will not excite attention in his eyes by making myself despicable in my own. BELL rings. --There's his bell. Where can his man Tony be? Why does he keep that dolt? BEL. Because he is a dolt, and don't pry into his master's secrets. BELL rings again violently. EnterTONy R.H., carrying a pair of boots, and peeping into a letter. LADY J. So it seems. (tapping TONY on the shoulder) What are you peeping at? TONY. Oh! I was only looking at that picture through this. All your virtuosises look at pictures through a hole. BEL. Indeed! (looking through the letter) It certainly does give an insight into many concealed beauties. (reads--aside) "Do not fail,"--"masquerade." Signed "Somebody." (returns letter to TONY) LADY J. Tony, don't you hear Sir George's bell? TONY. In course. LADY J. Then ought you not to run? TONY. Oh, in course I ought; but--- BEL. (sharply) But what? TONY. Don't frown, Miss, or I shall expire. May I tell your Ladyships my story? You must know I'm a great story-teller. LADY J. Probably. BELL rings. -But Sir George is ringing again. TONY. In course--he likes it, or he wouldn't do it. Ah! he little knows--- BEL. What? TONY. That I'm in love! If he did, he would not be in such a tough passion, and pay so little respect to my tender one, and wouldn't use his handsome foot in a manner it would be a breach of good manners to mention. BEL. In love, Tony? And who is the envied object of your adoration? TONY. Who? Oh!(sighs) That's part of my story. BEL. Well, let's have it. TONY. Well, and so, you must know, the fire that consumes me began last frost. I had been sitting on the coach-box, at Almanacks,