TWILL. Thank you, sir. Maybe you've got a bit of a letter for me, from my poor mother in Ireland? I'm not particular--the first that comes to hand in the bundle will do. POST. No, I haven't one for you. TWILL. Thank you, sir. Maybe you'd have one the next time. Good-bye, sir. [_Postman goes away. Twill, reading the address on the letter._ "Whittington Widgetts, Esquire." Ow wow! Esquire! the devil a ha'porth less. "Whittington Widgetts, Esquire, Hierokosma, Jarmyn Street." Hierokosma! That's French for a tailor's shop. By the Attorney-General 'twould give a man a headache in his elbow to write such a cramp word. (_Smells the letter._) Why then it smells elegant intirely. (_Goes to door, R., and enters while speaking._) Mr. Widgetts, here's a letter for you, sir. (_Returns immediately from the room, re-commences his song, and begins to brush the figure again. A church clock in the neighbourhood strikes eight._) WID. Twill! (_Speaking from the door of chamber, R._) TWILL. There, listen to that row. That master of mine will persist in calling me Twill, though he knows my name is Barney Toole, because Twill, he says, is genteeler. WID. What o'clock is that, Twill? TWILL. Eight o'clock, sir. WID. Put up the shutters. TWILL. What the devil can he mean? We never shut until nine o'clock. _Enter WIDGETTS from chamber, R., kissing a note which he holds._ WID. Well, don't you hear me? Put up the shutters and close the establishment, directly. TWILL. Of coorse, sir. Never say it twice. (_Twill runs out by door, L., and is seen putting up the window shutters outside._) WID. This night I devote to the tender union of love and lobsters. The adorable Ma'amselle Cheri Bounce, the ballet dancer, at last consents to partake a little quiet supper with me here this evening. I must read her charming note once more. (_Reads._) "Ma'amselle Cheri Bounce presents compliments to Mr. Whittington Widgetts, will feel happy to sup with Mr. W. W. this evening. Ma'amselle C. B. fears that female notions don't correspond with supping with a single gent, but lobsters is stronger than prudence, therefore trusts to indulgence; at nine o'clock precise. P.S.--I'll come in my blue visite and my native innocence, and hopes you'll treat them with proper delicacy." Glorious! Angelic creature! (_Kisses the letter and puts it in his waistcoat pocket._) Oh! Widgetts, you lucky rascal, to have the happiness of a private and confidential supper with that magnificent girl, whose image has never left my mind since the evening I danced with her at the Casino. (_Calls._) Twill! TWILL. (_entering from door, L._) Sir? WID. You must run directly to the tavern, over the way, and order them to send a roast fowl and lobster, in the shell, here, at nine o'clock. TWILL. Roast fowl, sir? WID. And lobster. He--hem! I expect a particular party to sup with me. TWILL. Coorse you'll want cigars, sir? WID. No. The party, Twill, is a lady and don't smoke.