COX. I don't say I do, Mrs. B.; only I wish you distinctly to understand that I don't believe it's the cat. MRS. B. Is there anything else you've got to grumble about, sir? COX. Grumble! Mrs. Bouncer, do you possess such a thing as a dictionary? MRS. B. No, sir. COX. Then I'll lend you one; and if you turn to the letter G, you'll find "Grumble, verb neuter--to complain without a cause." Now, that's not my case, Mrs. B.; and now that we are upon the subject, I wish to know how it is that I frequently find my apartment full of smoke? MRS. B. Why--I suppose the chimney-- COX. The chimney doesn't smoke tobacco. I'm speaking of tobacco-smoke, Mrs. B. I hope, Mrs. Bouncer, _you're_ not guilty of cheroots or Cubas? MRS. B. Not I, indeed, Mr. Cox. COX. Nor partial to a pipe? MRS. B. No, sir. COX. Then, how is it that-- MRS. B. Why--I suppose--yes--that must be it-- COX. At present I am entirely of your opinion--because I haven't the most distant particle of an idea what you mean. MRS. B. Why, the gentleman who has got the attics is hardly ever without a pipe in his mouth--and there he sits, with his feet upon the mantle-piece-- COX. The mantle-piece! That strikes me as being a considerable stretch, either of your imagination, Mrs. B., or the gentleman's legs. I presume you mean the fender or the hob. MRS. B. Sometimes one, sometimes t'other. Well, there he sits for hours, and puffs away into the fireplace. COX. Ah, then you mean to say that this gentleman's smoke, instead of emulating the example of all other sorts of smoke, and going _up_ the chimney, thinks proper to effect a singularity by taking the contrary direction? MRS. B. Why-- COX. Then, I suppose, the gentleman you are speaking of is the same individual that I invariably meet coming up-stairs when I'm going down, and going down-stairs when I'm coming up! MRS. B. Why--yes--I-- COX. From the appearance of his outward man, I should unhesitatingly set him down as a gentleman connected with the printing interest. MRS. B. Yes, sir--and a very respectable young gentleman he is. COX. Well, good-morning, Mrs. Bouncer. MRS. B. You'll be back at your usual time, I suppose, sir? COX. Yes--nine o'clock. You needn't light my fire in future, Mrs. B., I'll do it myself. Don't forget the bolster! (_Going, stops._) A halfpenny worth of milk, Mrs. Bouncer; and be good enough to let it stand--I wish the cream to accumulate. [_Exit at L. C._