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let him build my house, let him make my shoe, let him——

Charville (who has been all this while watching with his eyes Mrs. Charville and Sir R. Freemantle, as they walked to and fro in the garden, seeing him now take a letter from his pocket, calls out, off his guard).
A letter! (Moves towards the garden.)

SMITCHENSTAULT (pulling him back).

Letter! I say no letter: I say make my shoe. O, let him make—let him do all dat; dis be well too. And dere be de sober man: he not love wine; wine make him ill; and he have always de great commendations,—O, he be de sober man! But, I say, now hear you me——

CRAFTON.

We do, Mr. Smitchenstault; and no disparagement to your argument, it is a virtue of necessity.

SMITCHENSTAULT.

No, he don't hear.—(To Charville.) What you always look dere for? (Turning round himself.) O, de lady is in de garden!

CHARVILLE.

Shall we join her, Mr. Smitchenstault? She is fond of your reasoning.

SMITCHENSTAULT.

No, no! She love de flowers and frivolities.