It's only a small matter.
_Lucy._ But does a small matter make you sigh so?
_Old M._ Ah, miss; because though it is a small matter in itself, it is not a small matter to me (_sighing again_); it was my all, and I've lost it.
_Lucy._ What do you mean? What have you lost?
_Old M._ Why, miss--but I won't trouble you about it.
_Lucy._ But it won't trouble me at all--I mean, I wish to hear it; so tell it me.
_Old M._ Why, miss, I slept last night at the inn here, in town--the 'Saracen's Head'----
_Lucy_ (_interrupts him_). Hark! there is my father coming downstairs; follow me. You may tell me your story as we go along.
_Old M._ I slept at the 'Saracen's Head,' miss, and----
(_Exit talking._)
SCENE II
_Justice Headstrong's Study_
(_He appears in his nightgown and cap, with his gouty foot upon a stool--a table and chocolate beside him--Lucy is leaning on the arm of his chair._)
_Just._ Well, well, my darling, presently; I'll see him presently.
_Lucy._ Whilst you are drinking your chocolate, papa?
_Just._ No, no, no--I never see anybody till I have done my chocolate, darling. (_He tastes his chocolate._) There's no sugar in this, child.
_Lucy._ Yes, indeed, papa.
_Just._ No, child--there's _no_ sugar, I tell you; that's poz!
_Lucy._ Oh, but, papa, I a.s.sure you I put in two lumps myself.
_Just._ There's _no_ sugar, I say; why will you contradict me, child, for ever? There's no sugar, I say.
(_Lucy leans over him playfully, and with his teaspoon pulls out two lumps of sugar._)
_Lucy._ What's this, papa?
_Just._ Pshaw! pshaw! pshaw!--it is not melted, child--it is the same as no sugar.--Oh, my foot, girl, my foot!--you kill me. Go, go, I'm busy.
I've business to do. Go and send William to me; do you hear, love?
_Lucy._ And the old man, papa?
_Just._ What old man? I tell you what, I've been plagued ever since I was awake, and before I was awake, about that old man. If he can't wait, let him go about his business. Don't you know, child, I never see anybody till I've drunk my chocolate; and I never will, if it were a duke--that's poz! Why, it has but just struck twelve; if he can't wait, he can go about his business, can't he?
_Lucy._ Oh, sir, he _can_ wait. It was not he who was impatient. (_She comes back playfully._) It was only I, papa; don't be angry.
_Just._ Well, well, well (_finishing his cup of chocolate, and pushing his dish away_); and at any rate there was not sugar enough. Send William, send William, child; and I'll finish my own business, and then----
(_Exit Lucy, dancing, 'And then!--and then!'_)
JUSTICE, _alone._
_Just._ Oh, this foot of mine!--(_twinges_)--Oh, this foot! Ay, if Dr.
Sparerib could cure one of the gout, then, indeed, I should think something of him; but as to my leaving off my bottle of port, it's nonsense; it's all nonsense; I can't do it; I can't, and I won't for all the Dr. Spareribs in Christendom; that's poz!
_Enter_ WILLIAM.
_Just._ William--oh! ay! hey! what answer, pray, did you bring from the 'Saracen's Head'? Did you see Mrs. Bustle herself, as I bid you?
_Will._ Yes, sir, I saw the landlady herself; she said she would come up immediately, sir.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Lucy. _What's this, papa?_ Just. _Pshaw! pshaw!
pshaw!--it is not melted, child--it is the same as no sugar._]
_Just._ Ah, that's well--immediately?
_Will._ Yes, sir, and I hear her voice below now.
_Just._ Oh, show her up; show Mrs. Bustle in.
_Enter_ MRS. BUSTLE, _the landlady of the 'Saracen's Head.'_
_Land._ Good-morrow to your worship! I'm glad to see your worship look so purely. I came up with all speed (_taking breath_). Our pie is in the oven; that was what you sent for me about, I take it.
_Just._ True, true; sit down, good Mrs. Bustle, pray----
_Land._ Oh, your worship's always very good (_settling her ap.r.o.n_). I came up just as I was--only threw my shawl over me. I thought your worship would excuse--I'm quite, as it were, rejoiced to see your worship look so purely, and to find you up so hearty----
_Just._ Oh, I'm very hearty (_coughing_), always hearty, and thankful for it. I hope to see many Christmas doings yet, Mrs. Bustle. And so our pie is in the oven, I think you say?
_Land._ In the oven it is. I put it in with my own hands; and if we have but good luck in the baking, it will be as pretty a goose-pie--though I say it that should not say it--as pretty a goose-pie as ever your worship set your eyes upon.
_Just._ Will you take a gla.s.s of anything this morning, Mrs. Bustle?--I have some nice usquebaugh.
_Land._ Oh, no, your worship!--I thank your worship, though, as much as if I took it; but I just took my luncheon before I came up; or more proper, _my sandwich_, I should say, for the fashion's sake, to be sure.
A _luncheon_ won't go down with n.o.body nowadays (_laughs_). I expect hostler and boots will be calling for their sandwiches just now (_laughs again_). I'm sure I beg your worship's pardon for mentioning a _luncheon_.
_Just._ Oh, Mrs. Bustle, the word's a good word, for it means a good thing--ha! ha! ha! (_pulls out his watch_); but pray, is it luncheon time? Why, it's past one, I declare; and I thought I was up in remarkably good time, too.
_Land._ Well, and to be sure so it was, remarkably good time for _your worship_; but folks in our way must be up betimes, you know. I've been up and about these seven hours.
_Just._ (_stretching_). Seven hours!