Don't you close your eyes all night. HATCHAM. Not me, mum. And I've got hold of the constable 'ere, Mr. Topping--he's going to sit up with me, for company's sake. SIR TRISTRAM. The constable? HATCHAM. Yes, Sir Tristram. [_Coming forward mysteriously._] Why, bless you and the lady, sir--supposin' the fire at the "Swan" warn't no accident! GEORGIANA. Eh? HATCHAM. Supposin' it were inciderism--and supposin' our 'orse was the hobject. SIR TRISTRAM. Good gracious! HATCHAM. That's why I ain't goin' to watch single-handed. SIR TRISTRAM. Get back then--get back! [_SIR TRISTRAM and GEORGIANA pace up and down excitedly._ HATCHAM. Right, Sir. There's only one mortal fear I've got about our Dandy. GEORGIANA _and_ SIR TRISTRAM. What's that? HATCHAM. He 'asn't found out about 'is tail yet, sir, and when he does it'll fret him, as sure as my name's Bob Hatcham. SIR TRISTRAM. Keep the stable pitch dark--he mayn't notice it. HATCHAM. Not to-night, sir, but he's a proud 'orse and what'll he think of 'isself on the 'ill to-morrow? You and me and the lady, sir--it 'ud be different with us, but how's our Dandy to hide his bereavement? [_HATCHAM goes out of the window with SIR TRISTRAM as THE DEAN enters, followed by BLORE, who carries a lighted lantern._ THE DEAN. [_Looking reproachfully at GEORGIANA._] You have returned, Georgiana? GEORGIANA. Yes, thank ye. THE DEAN. And that animal? GEORGIANA. In our stables, safe and snug. THE DEAN. [_With a groan._] Oh! GEORGIANA. You can sleep to-night with the happy consciousness of having sheltered the outcast. THE DEAN. We're locking up now. The poor children, exhausted with the alarm, beg me to say good-night for them. The fire is quite extinguished. BLORE. Yes, sir; but I hear they've just sent into Durnstone hasking for the Military to watch the ruins in case of another houtbreak. It'll stop the wicked Ball at the Hathanaeum, it will! [_Drawing the window curtains._ SIR TRISTRAM. [_Having re-entered._] I suppose you want to see the last of me, Jedd. THE DEAN. Mardon! GEORGIANA. Don't be unkind, Tris. Where shall we stow the dear old chap, Gus, my boy? THE DEAN. Where shall we stow the dear old chap! I really don't know. GEORGIANA. Let me see. We don't want to pitch you out of your loft if we can help it, Gus. SIR TRISTRAM. No, no--we won't do that. THE DEAN. Don't consider me in this manner. But there's Sheba's little cot still standing in the old nursery. SIR TRISTRAM. Just the thing for me--the old nursery. GEORGIANA. The old nursery. Toys to play with if you wake early. THE DEAN. [_Looking round._] Is there anyone else before we lock up? [_BLORE has fastened the window and drawn the curtain._ GEORGIANA. Put Sir Tristram to bed carefully in the nursery, Blore. SIR TRISTRAM. [_Grasping THE DEAN'S hand._] Good-night, old boy. I'm too done for a hand of Piquet to-night. THE DEAN. I never play cards. SIR TRISTRAM.