PHOEBE. Yes, sir. (_aside_) And at the same time, I'll see poor dear Triptolemus safe off the premises! _Runs out at little door, L. back._ TRIPTOLE. (_peeping out at little door_) Deuce a bit of a staircase can I see. (_seeing BUNNY_) Holloa! (_quietly closing the door again_) BUNNY. Ah! here's Cockletop again! (_seeing COCKLETOP, who comes in at C. from L._) Well? (_going to him_) Any news of your nephew? COCKLE. (_still very red in the face, and making another ineffectual grasp at BUNNY'S hand_) I've been round to his lodgings again--had another fire lighted, and another bottle of Sherry--no news. Suppose we say the poor boy is ill in bed? BUNNY. (L.) Better say he's dead!--that'll settle the matter at once! COCKLE. (_suddenly, and looking off at C._) Ah! I think I see him!--look, there!--come along! (_seizes BUNNY by the arm, drags him up the stage, and off at C. towards R., BUNNY struggling violently--TRIPTOLEMUS quietly opens the door, peeps in, then comes cautiously out--he is dressed in COCKLETOP'S black paletot, and has got on a light flaxen wig, exactly like the one that BUNNY wears_) TRIPTOLE. I don't know whose garment this is that I've got into, but from the extensive assortment of gloves in the pockets, I should say he must be a hosier on a large scale. (_pulling out a handful of gloves from each pocket of the paletot, of various colours_) Now then for another attempt to escape. (_he makes his way towards C., and is just going to sneak out--finds himself face to face with CAPTAIN HARDAPORT, who enters L. C.--TRIPTOLEMUS utters a sort of a scream, and staggers back, grasping the back of a chair to keep himself from falling_) CAPT. H. Holloa, messmate, ain't you well? TRIPTOLE. (_pulling his wig over his face, and in a faltering voice, R._) N-ot particularly. CAPT. H. (L.) The heat of the room, I suppose? Been dancing and skipping about, eh? TRIPTOLE. (_faintly, and wiping his face with a handful of gloves, which he takes out of his pocket_) Yes; I've had a good deal of skipping about lately. CAPT. H. (_looking cautiously about--then mysteriously to TRIPTOLEMUS, who, in order to appear collected is pulling on a pair of gloves of different colours_) Hark ye, messmate: you can do me a good turn! I'm looking out for a young chap here--a rival! (_in a voice of thunder--TRIPTOLEMUS gives a violent start_) whose brains, if he's got any, I mean to blow out--all fair and above board, of course! Now, what d'ye think I'd better do, to put his monkey up--pull his nose or kick him round the room? _Enter BUNNY, COCKLETOP, CAROLINE, ARABELLA, and other GUESTS, C.--the music ceases--some of the GUESTS seat themselves at card tables and begin to play, others take refreshments, handed about by JONATHAN, R. and L._ TRIPTOLE. The monkey? CAPT. H. Pshaw!--hush! (_TRIPTOLEMUS attempts to escape_) COCKLE. (_in a maudlin pathetic tone to CAROLINE_) He's very poorly indeed, miss. (_TRIPTOLEMUS seems struck by the voice_)