_Enter LUKE SHARP, L. 3 E.--he is dressed in a black dress coat, nankeen trousers, very short, white stockings, and shoes, a white waistcoat, and white cravat, with large full bows--his hair very shortly cut, or else very elaborately frizzed._ ARABEL. (_reproachfully_) At last, Mr. Sharp! Well, sir, I must say you haven't hurried yourself. PHOEBE. Never mind. Now the sooner you start, the sooner you'll be at the theatre. (_aside_) And the sooner poor dear Trip will be liberated. (_hurrying ARABELLA on with her shawl_) There, now you're ready. ARABEL. Yes, now I'm ready. (_LUKE who has been looking on in a very dejected manner, utters a deep sigh, then goes up to ARABELLA, takes her shawl, and places it on a chair, then uttering another deep sigh is about to take off ARABELLA'S hat_) Goodness me, Mr. Sharp, what are you doing? SHARP. (_in a sepulchral tone_) My _dooty_--my melancholy _dooty,_ Miss Arabella. In a word, the theatre is no go--the orders is wasted, and we are disap_point_ed in our hopes. ARABEL. What! after the trouble of this elaborate toilette! No, I will not be disap_point_ed, as you call it! PHOEBE. (_aside to her_) That's right. ARABEL. I _will_ go! PHOEBE. (_aside to her_) Stick to that. SHARP. Impossible! inclination points one way--dooty another. ARABEL. (_very impatiently_) Explain yourself, sir! (_here TRIPTOLEMUS'S legs again appear, swaying about--kick the fire irons down again, and then are suddenly drawn up_) What can be the matter with the fire irons? Again, Mr. Sharp, are you going to explain? SHARP. I am; the particulars is this ways: my employer, Mr. Cheesecake, has got the purviding of the eatables for Mr. Bunny's supper this evening; and being, as you know, of a asthmatic constitution, _I_ am obligated to do _dooty_ for him. (_here TRIPTOLEMUS'S legs again appear dangling down, they kick about violently, and one of his shoes is kicked off and falls on the stage, PHOEBE hastily picks it up and pockets it_) ARABEL. What's that? PHOEBE. No-thing. ARABEL. (_taking off her hat_) Well, I suppose it can't be helped. SHARP. And now, Miss Arabella, I've an agreeable surprise for you. The particklers is this ways--my govenor, Mr. Cheesecake, is about to retire himself into the bosom of private life; and then, Miss Arabella, I step into the business, and _you_ walk into the Bath buns, apple tarts, ices, acidulated drops, and kisses! (_tenderly_) ARABEL. I'm sure I feel highly flattered, Mr. Sharp; but I cannot dispose of my hand without the consent of my family. SHARP. Family! I understood you were a horphan. ARABEL. So I am; when I say my family, I allude to my gallant brother, Captain Hardaport, who is now actively engaged in his country's service. SHARP. Where? ARABEL. On the coast of Devonshire, in the herring fishery. (_here the legs appear, as before, kicking violently, and trying to find a resting place_) SHARP. And now Miss Arabella, I've another agreeable surprise for you. ARABEL. What?