_Tom._ Have I? Then I’m the only man that ever did. I don’t think Tom Cobb is the sort of man to get any advantage out of Colonel O’Fipp. (_COLONEL O’FIPP falls sobbing into chair._) What’s the matter now? _O’Fi._ Ye mentioned the name of Tom Cobb, sorr. I had a dear, dear friend of that name once. He was to have married me daughter, sorr; but he’s gone! _Tom._ Well, if that’s what you’re crying for--cheer up, because he’s come back again. _O’Fi._ (_seizing his hand_). Me dear friend, me very dear friend, if ye can only assure me that poor dear dead and gone Tom Cobb is aloive, me gratitude shall know no bounds! Maybe you’re his brother? _Tom._ His brother!--get out! _O’Fi._ No? I thought ye moight be; I seem to see a loikeness. _Tom._ I should think you did! _O’Fi._ A distant loikeness, sorr. _Tom._ A mere suggestion, I suppose? _O’Fi._ A faint shadowy indication of a remote family resemblance; that’s all, sorr, I give ye my honour. And now tell me where is he, that I may embrace him. _Tom._ Well, he’s here; but don’t embrace him. _O’Fi._ Sorr, d’ye mean to sit there and tell me to me very face that you’re me beloved ould friend Tom Cobb? _Tom._ Well, if the marks on my linen are to be trusted---- _O’Fi._ Ah, sorr! beware of jumpin’ at conclusions on insufficient grounds. Depend upon it, ye’re mistaken, sorr. _Tom._ Well, upon my honour, I begin to think I am! _O’Fi._ Tom Cobb, sorr, is dead and buried. I had the melancholy satisfaction of following him to his grave--me dear friend, Tim Whipple, accompanied me, and he’s at the present moment engaged in comforting my bereaved and inconsolable daughter. _Tom._ I’m sure I’m very much obliged to him! Perhaps I could do that better than he? _O’Fi._ I think not, sorr. He’s doing it very well--very well indeed. _Tom._ Now, once for all, Colonel, this won’t do. There are plenty of people who know me if you don’t. Here’s my card--“T. Cobb, 6,” in red cotton (_showing mark on pocket-handkerchief_), and I’ve several other marks of the same character about me, which I shall be happy to show you at a more convenient opportunity. _O’Fi._ Sorr, documentary evidence in red cotton isn’t worth the cambric it’s stitched upon. Ye’ll have to find some better proof of yer identity than that. _Enter MATILDA._ _Mat._ Papa dear, Tim’s goin’ to take me to the theayter. (_Sees TOM._) Oh! _Tom._ My darlin’ Matilda! My beloved Matilda! I’m so, so, _so_ glad to see you again, dear! Why, it’s three months since we met. (_Kissing and hugging her._) What a fool I’ve been to cut myself out of this sort of thing for three months! (_Kisses her._) How very, very well you’re looking! (_Kisses her._) _Mat._ Will ye koindly leave off kissin’ me till I’ve had the pleasure of bein’ inthrojuiced to ye? _Tom._ Why, you don’t mean to tell me _you_ don’t know me? _Mat._ ’Deed, and I don’t then. And yet I seem to have seen yer face before? _Tom._ ’Deed, and you have, and you’ve kissed it before.