Piff. Um! The master has been getting impertinent to me of late, so the servants seem to be following suit. (_Shrugging his shoulders._) I shall throw this job up when I’ve made another hundred or two. I wonder how much longer he’s going to keep me waiting. (_Exit Piff. c._) (_Enter Allen r. creeping in cautiously in a mysterious and watchful manner. He has a huge pewter pot in one hand and a large church-warden clay pipe alight in the other. He looks round stealthily, listens, then crosses nervously and sits l. in easy chair. He stretches himself out as luxuriously as his tight clothes will allow--especially the collar. Takes a long pull at the pot and long puffs at the pipe. In the middle of each pull, grunts “good” in evident enjoyment._) Allen. (_Chuckling in a deep undertone. Crosses to c. and sits._) Ah-h-h, I’ve done un this time. He’s waiting upstairs to curl my hair. (_Chuckling again._) Told un I’d come up when (_grandly_) I’d finished conducting my correspondence. (_Chuckles, pulls at pipe, and takes a deep draught._) First time I’ve ever enjoyed myself since I came into my property. (_Breaks out into some country ale-house sort of song, sings, warming as he goes on with great gusto._) (_Enter Piffin c., unseen by Allen. Piff. comes down and stands c. looking on. Allen finishes song and then buries his face in the pot. As his eyes emerge over the brim he catches sight of Piff. He remains looking at him for a while and then slowly puts the pot on the table._) Allen. What do thee want? Didn’t I tell ’ee I wur going to conduct my correspondence, and that I didn’t want to be disturbed? Piff. (_Goes up table._) I beg pardon, sir, but I thought maybe you had completed your correspondence, especially as there was only one letter this morning, and that was a circular about coals. Allen. Oh, did you. Well, I ain’t you see. I’m going to write a lot of original correspondence this morning, and I’m collecting my thoughts. (_Goes on smoking sulkily._) Piff. Yes, sir--certainly, sir--but might I be allowed to suggest, sir, that a pot of ale and a clay pipe are hardly the _dolce far niente_ of a _grand seigneur_. Allen. Hardly the what of my which? Look here, don’t you be so spry at calling me them jaw-breaking foreign names, because I don’t like it. It wur only yesterday you alluded to me as a _bo-mo_, and last week you said I ought to be in the _hot tongs_. I didn’t say anything at the time, but you drop it. Piff. I referred to you as belonging to the _beau monde_, sir, and I may have said your position was now among the _haut ton_. We always talk like that in good society, sir. Both expressions were flattering, very flattering. Allen. Ah, maybe they wur and maybe they wurn’t. Next time, you call it me in English, and then I can judge for myself. And don’t worrit me to-day at all. I’ve got a trying morning before me, and I’m going to have a little quiet enjoyment to set myself up before it begins.