_Sus_. Don't I?--I never did taste champagne, but I've seen them eating lobster-salad many a time;--girls not half so good-lookin' as you or me, Mattie, and fine gentlemen a waitin' upon 'em. Oh dear! I _am_ so hungry! Think of having your supper with a real gentleman as talks to you as if you was fit to talk to--not like them Jew-tailors, as tosses your work about as if it dirtied their fingers--and them none so clean for all their fine rings! _Mat_. I saw Nathan's Joseph in a pastrycook's last Saturday, and a very pretty girl with him, poor thing! _Sus_. Oh the hussy to let that beast pay for her! _Mat_. I suppose she was hungry. _Sus_. I'd die before I let a snob like that treat _me_. No, Mattie! I spoke of a _real_ gentleman. _Mat_. Are you sure you wouldn't take Nathan's Joseph for a gentleman if he was civil to you? _Sus_. Thank you, miss! I know a sham from a real gentleman the moment I set eyes on him. _Mat_. What do you mean by a real gentleman, Susan? _Sus_. A gentleman as makes a lady of his girl. _Mat_. But what sort of lady, Sue? The poor girl may fancy herself a lady, but only till she's left in the dirt. That sort of gentleman makes fine speeches to your face, and calls you horrid names behind your back. Sue, dear, don't have a word to say to one of them--if he speaks ever so soft. _Sus_. Lawks, Mattie! they ain't all one sort. _Mat_. You won't have more than one sort to choose from. They may be rough or civil, good-natured or bad, but they're all the same in this, that not one of them cares a pin more for you than if you was a horse--no--nor half a quarter so much. Don't for God's sake have a word to say to one of them. If I die, Susan-- _Sus_. If you do, Matilda--if you go and do that thing, I'll take to gin--that's what I'll do. Don't say I didn't act fair, and tell you beforehand. _Mat_. How can I help dying, Susan? _Sus_. I say, Don't do it, Mattie. We'll fall out, if you do. Don't do it, Matilda--La! there's that lumping Bill again--_al_ways a comin' up the stair when you don't want him! _Enter_ BILL. _Mat_. Well, Bill, how have you been getting on? _Bill_. Pretty tollol, Mattie. But I can't go on so. (_Holds out his stool_.) It ain't respectable. _Mat_. What ain't respectable? Everything's respectable that's honest. _Bill_. Why, who ever saw a respectable shiner goin' about with a three-legged stool for a blackin' box? It ain't the thing. The rig'lars chaffs me fit to throw it at their 'eads, they does--only there's too many on 'em, an' I've got to dror it mild. A box I must have, or a feller's ockypation's gone. Look ye here! One bob, one tanner, and a joey! There! that's what comes of never condescending to an 'a'penny. _Sus_. Bless us! what mighty fine words we've got a waitin' on us!