Piff. Might I suggest, then, sir, that a cigarette and a little absinthe would be more _de rigueur?_ My late lamented master the Count de Fizziani invariably took a little absinthe after breakfast and found great benefit from it. Allen. Yes, I know. I tried your friend’s cough mixture before, you know. Old ale’s good enough for me. Piff. But, sir-- Allen. Don’t you worrit. I’ve been a gentleman for a month; I think I might have a morning off. Piff. Very well, sir. Just as you please, of course, sir; but I’ve my character to consider, sir--and--and--I am not accustomed to the service of gentlemen with pothouse proclivities. Allen. (_Sotto voce._) Oh, go and hang yourself. Piff. (_Up c._) That’s never done now, sir, in good society. My late lamented master, the Count de Fizziani-- Allen. (_Springing up, working Piff. round, from table l. to desk r._) Oh, you go to your late lamented master, the fizzing Count, and tell him to--I have had eno’ of him and I’ve had eno’ of you. Blest if I’ve had a happy moment since you came into the house. You’ve dressed me up like a tailor’s dummy, and curled my hair like a Sunday school kid; you’ve made me talk like a man in a play, and walk like a monkey on stilts. Thee’ve chivied me about from morning till night, and thee’ve rammed that old lamented corpse of yours down my throat every two minutes of the day. I’ve put up wi’ it all for a long while because I thought thee meant well, and wur a-trying to make me into a gentleman, but blest if I think thee knows much more about the genuine article than I does, and I’m going to go it in my own way now. Look here. (_Takes off his tie and collar and throws them down and jumps on them, pulls off his coat and throws it in a corner, nifties his hair, unbuttons and throws back his waistcoat, kicks off his boots, and throws himself into easy chair, sticks his feet on table, takes long pull from the pot, slams it on table> again, and commences to smoke his pipe vigorously, looking defiantly at Piff._) That’s the sort o’ man I’m going to be now. (_Sits l._) Piff. (_Who has stood aghast, moving off._) Very well, sir; then I have only to say that I wash my hands of you entirely. (_Pause._) You can’t make a gentleman out of a pig’s ear. (_Sneeringly_). Allen. (_Puffing quietly at pipe._) No, it ain’t the usual method. Piff. (_By door c. muttering to himself, but meant to be heard by Allen._) Only what I might have expected from mixing myself up with such canaille. (_Pauses. Allen takes no notice._) Pray understand, sir, I give you a week’s warning on the spot. My late master, the--