_Frank._ Say, I will be at your house, myself--remember, positively come, or send, in the course of the day.--In the mean time, take this, and give it to the person who sent you. _Giving a Purse, which he has taken from the Drawer._ _Dennis._ A purse!--'faith, and I'll take it.--Do you know how much is in the inside? _Frank._ Psha! no.--No matter. _Dennis._ Troth, now, if I'd trusted a great big purse to a stranger, they'd have call'd it a bit of a bull:--but let you and I count it out between us, [_Pouring the Money on the Table._] for, damn him, say I, who would cheat a poor girl in distress, of the value of a rap.--One, two, three, &c. [_Counting._ _Frank._ Worthy, honest fellow! _Dennis._ Eleven, twelve, thirteen-- _Frank._ I'll be the making of your house, my good fellow. _Dennis._ Damn the Red Cow, sir,--you put me out.--Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen.--Nineteen fat yellow boys, and a seven shilling piece.--Tell them yourself, sir; then chalk them up over the chimney-piece, else you'll forget, you know. _Frank._ O, friend, when honesty, so palpably natural as yours, keeps the account, I care not for my arithmetic.--Fly now,--bid the servants give you any refreshment you chuse; then hasten to execute your commission. _Dennis._ Thank your honour!--good luck to you! I'll taste the beer;--but, by my soul, if the butler comes the Red Cow over me, I'll tell him, I know sweet from sour. _Exit DENNIS._ _Frank._ Let me read her letter once more. [_Reads._ _I am not going to upbraid you; but after I got your letter, I could not rest at my father's, where I once knew happiness and innocence.--I wish'd to have taken a last leave of you, and to beg a trifling assistance;--but the gentleman who has befriended me in my wanderings, would not suffer me to do so; yet I could not help writing, to tell you, I am quitting this neighbourhood for ever!--That you may never know a moment's sorrow, will always be the prayer of_ _Your unhappy_ MARY. My mind is hell to me! love, sorrow, remorse, and--yes--and jealousy, all distract me:--and no counsellor to advise with; no friend to whom I may-- _Enter TOM SHUFFLETON._ _Frank._ Tom Shuffleton! you never arrived more apropos in your life. _Shuff._ That's what the women always say to me. I've rumbled on the road, all night, Frank. My bones ache, my head's muzzy--and we'll drink two bottles of claret a-piece, after dinner, to enliven us. _Frank._ You seem in spirits, Tom, I think, now. _Shuff._ Yes;--I have had a windfall--Five hundred pounds. _Frank._ A legacy? _Shuff._ No.--The patient survives who was sick of his money. 'Tis a loan from a friend. _Frank._ 'Twould be a pity, then, Tom, if the patient experienced improper treatment.