JACK (_laughing as he enters_). Ha! ha! poor old Blunt! he soon had enough of it! (_Seeing DOCTOR._) Well, you've seen my aunt--eh? She rather astonished you, didn't she? But really, now (_taking JOGTROT'S arm familiarly_), you never thought your man had the ghost of a chance, did you? JOGTROT. My man? JACK. Yes, Dicky! here he is! (_going up to meet CHIRPER, who enters at C._). (_Aside to him._) Our intellectual friend has something to tell you! Be a man, Dicky (_slapping him on the back_). It's no use crying over spilt milk, my Trojan! [_Exit at C., CHIRPER staring after him in astonishment._ JOGTROT (_aside_). There are circumstances under which a fib becomes a duty. (_Aloud, and grasping CHIRPER'S hand._) I congratulate you, she's yours! At least she will be! CHIRPER (_very quietly_). Oh, joyful tidings. JOGTROT. But it is possible you may have a rival. CHIRPER (_very quietly again_). Oh, maddening thought! JOGTROT. But follow my advice and you shall win her yet. Never leave her side! say all sorts of tender things to her. By-the-bye, have you brought her a bouquet? No! Then go and get one--the bigger the better. Go at once--recollect, the bigger the better (_hurrying CHIRPER up stage, who goes out at C., shouting after him_)--the bigger the better! JOGTROT (_coming down--then suddenly_). By no means a bad idea of mine; at any rate, it's well worth the trial! Surely this fire-eating captain must have _some_ blemish--_some_ small vice or other, I don't care _how_ small. I'll undertake to stretch it as far as it will go! Here comes his servant; I may be able to squeeze something out of _him._ _Enter BLUNT at C., one of his cheeks very swollen._ JOGTROT (_beckoning BLUNT_). Here, my worthy creature! I wish to speak to you. (_BLUNT touches his cap and advances._) A swollen face, I see! Toothache? BLUNT. No, sir. I'll tell you how it was. _I_ makes a feint with my left (_hitting out, JOGTROT skips back_), when slap comes a right-hander straight from the elbow (_hitting out again, JOGTROT skips back again_), and catches me bang on the-- JOGTROT. Yes; yes! exactly; but tell me, have you been long with your gallant master? BLUNT. Better than ten years, sir! JOGTROT. The more to your credit, my fine fellow! here's a sovereign (_gives money_). BLUNT. Thankee, sir! (_Aside._) What's his little game, I wonder? JOGTROT. I like the captain! I like him much! Rather a lively temper, perhaps; a little bit quarrelsome--eh? slightly pugnacious--umph!--and a sad fellow among the women, I'm afraid! Ha! ha! ha! (_poking BLUNT in the side_). BLUNT. Who? Master? Not he! Only bring him face to face with a pretty wench, and see if he don't stand there a-stammering and blushing like any big lubberly school-boy. JOGTROT (_aside_). The scoundrel _won't_ speak! (_Aloud._) I gave you a sovereign just now; oblige me by getting it changed for me. BLUNT (_aside_). So, so. Wanted to pump me, did he? I'll bring him a pound's worth of coppers!