Coming then!--Sure it’s making up the room I am with all speed, and the bed not made after all!--(_Throws up the press-bed._)--But to live in this here house, girl or boy, one had need have the lives of nine cats and the legs of forty. [_Exit._ SCENE III. _The Kitchen of the Inn._ _Miss FLORINDA GALLAGHER and CHRISTY GALLAGHER._ _Boys and Men belonging to the Band, in the back Scene._ _Christy._ (_to the band_) The girl’s coming as fast as possible to get yees your dinners, jantlemen, and sorrow better dinner than she’ll give you: you’ll get all instantly--(_To Miss GALLAGHER_) And am not I telling you, Florry, that the drum-major did not come in yet at all, but went out through the town, to see and get a billet and bed for the sick man they’ve got. _Enter BIDDY, stops and listens._ _Miss G._ I wonder the major didn’t have the manners to step in, and spake to the lady first--was he an Irishman, he would. _Biddy._ Then it’s my wonder he wouldn’t step in to take his dinner first--was he an Englishman, he would. But it’s lucky for me and for him he didn’t, becaase he couldn’t, for it won’t be ready this three-quarters of an hour--only the Scotch broth, which boiled over. [_BIDDY retires, and goes on cooking.--CHRISTY fills out a glass of spirits to each of the band._ _Miss G._ Since the major’s not in it, I’ll not be staying here--for here’s only riff-raff triangle and gridiron boys, and a black-a-moor, and that I never could stand; so I’ll back into the room. Show the major up, do you mind, father, as soon as ever he’d come. _Christy._ Jantlemen all! here’s the king’s health, and confusion worse confounded to his enemies, for yees; or if ye like it better, here’s the plaid tartan and fillibeg for yees, and that’s a comprehensive toast--will give ye an appetite for your dinners. [_They drink in silence._ _Miss G._ Did ye hear me, father? _Christy._ Ay, ay.--Off with ye! [_Exit Miss GALLAGHER, tossing back her head.--CHRISTY pours out a glass of whiskey for himself, and with appropriate graces of the elbow and little finger, swallows it, making faces of delight._ _Christy._ Biddy! Biddy, girl, ye!--See the pig putting in his nose--keep him out--can’t ye? _Biddy._ Hurrush! hurrush! (_Shaking her apron._) Then that pig’s as sinsible as any Christian, for he’d run away the minute he’d see me. _Christy._ That’s manners o’ the pig.--Put down a power more turf, Biddy:--see the jantlemen’s gathering round the fire, and has a right to be _could_ in their knees this St. Patrick’s day in the morning--for it’s March, that comes in like a lion. [_The band during this speech appear to be speaking to BIDDY.--She comes forward to CHRISTY._ _Christy._ What is it they are whispering and conjuring, Biddy? _Biddy._ ‘Twas only axing me, they were, could they all get beds the night in it.