_Miss G._ (_rising_) Sir, I comprehend your song, coarse as it is, and its moral to boot, and I humbly thank ye, sir. (_She curtsies low._) And if I live a hundred year, and ninety-nine to the back of that, sir, I will remember it to you, sir. _Christy._ (_leaving the punch which he had been making, comes forward with a lemon in his hand_) Wheugh! wheugh! wheugh! Ferrinafad! _Gilb._ (_aside_) Ferrinafad!--the man’s mad! _Miss G._ Father, go your ways back to your punch. Here stands the only _raal_ gentleman in company (_pointing to the drum-major_), if I’m to make the election. _Christy._ Major, you can’t but drink her health for that compliment. [_He presents a glass of punch to Mr. HOPE._ _Mr. H._ Miss Gallagher’s health, and a gude husband to her, and _soon_. _Miss G._ And soon!--No hurry for them that has choice. _Christy._ That has money, you mane, jewel. Mr. Gilbert, you did not give us your toast. _Gilb._ Your good health, ma’am--your good health, sir,--Mr. Hope, your good health, and your fireside in Scotland, and in pa’tic’lar your good wife. _Miss G._ (_starting_) Your wife, sir! Why, sir, is’t possible you’re a married man, after all? _Mr. H._ Very possible, ma’am--thank Heaven and my gude Kate. _Miss G._ _His gude Kate_!--Well, I hate the Scotch accent of all languages under the sun. _Christy._ In a married man, I suppose you _mane_, Florry? _Miss G._ This is the way with officers continually--passing themselves for bachelors. _Christy._ Then, Florry, we’d best recommend it to the drum-major the next town he’d go into, to put up an advertisement in capitals on his cap, warning all women whom it may consarn, that he is a married man. _Miss G._ ‘Tis no consarn of mine, I’ll assure you, sir, at any rate; for I should scorn to think of a Scotchman any way. And what’s a drum-major, after all? [_Exit, in a passion._ _Christy._ Bo boo! bo boo! bo boo! there’s a tantarara now; but never mind her, she takes them tantarums by turns. Now depend upon it, Mr. Gilbert, it’s love that’s at the bottom of it all, clane and clear. _Gilb._ It’s very like, sir--I can’t say. _Christy._ Oh, but I _can_ say--I know her, egg and bird. The thing is, she’s mad with you, and that has set her all through other.--But we’ll finish our tumbler of punch. [_Draws forwards the table, and sets chairs._ _Gilb._ (_aside_) Egg and bird!--mad! All through other!--Confound me if I understand one word the man is saying; but I will make him understand me, if he can understand plain English. _Mr. H._ (_aside_) I’ll stand by and see fair play. I have my own thought. _Gilb._ Now, Mr. ----, to be plain with you at once--here’s fifty guineas in gold, and if you will take them, and give me up the promise you have got of the new inn, you shall be welcome. That’s all I have to say, if I was to talk till Christmas--and fewest words is best in matters of business.