Henry Cobb is the
friend of my girlhood, and--
Perkins. Henry Cobb be--
Mrs. Perkins. Thaddeus!
Perkins. I don't care, Bess, if Henry Cobb was the only friend you
ever had. I object to having my prints dumped into a Saratoga trunk
in order that he may confront Muddleton and regain the lost estates
of Puddingford by hiding in my chest. A gay earl Yardsley makes,
anyhow; and as for Barlow, he looks like an ass in that yellow-
chrysanthemum wig. No man with yellow hair like that could track
such a villain as Henderson makes Muddleton out to be. Fact is,
Henderson is the only decent part of the show.
Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing). What if he is weak? Then shall I still
more strongly show myself his friend. Poor? Does not--
Perkins. Oh, I suppose it does--(Bell rings.) There comes this
apology for a real earl, I fancy. I'll let him in myself. I suppose
Jennie has got as much as she can do sweeping my manuscripts out of
the laundry, and keeping my verses from scorching the wash. [Exit.
Mrs. Perkins. It's too bad of Thaddeus to go on like this. As if I
hadn't enough to worry me without a cross husband to manage.
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