Chapter 32

JEAN, SMITH, _and_ MOORE

(_They loiter in L._, _and stand looking about as for somebody not there_. SMITH _is hat in hand to_ JEAN; MOORE _as usual_.)

MOORE. Wot did I tell you? Is he ’ere, or ain’t he? Now, then. Slink by name and Slink by nature, that’s wot’s the matter with him.

JEAN. He’ll no be lang; he’s regular enough, if that was a’.

MOORE. I’d regular him; I’d break his back.

SMITH. Badger, you brute, you hang on to the lessons of your dancing-master. None but the genteel deserves the fair; does they, Duchess?

MOORE. O rot! Did I insult the blowen? Wot’s the matter with me is Slink Ainslie.

SMITH. All right, old Crossed-in-love. Give him forty winks, and he’ll turn up as fresh as clean sawdust and as respectable as a new Bible.

MOORE. That’s right enough; but I ain’t agoing to stand here all day for him. I’m for a drop of something short, I am. You tell him I showed you that (_showing his doubled fist_). That’s wot’s the matter with him. (_He lurches out_, _R._)