_Mike._ In a minit, sir: the wather’s could. (_Puts wrappers, towel, &c., round him._)
_Simper._ Yes, weally, you must attend to me. The dear cweecher will die: I know she will.
_Crusty._ Then let her die, or shave yourself!
_Mike._ Faith, sir, I can’t help it. Oh, murther! that’s Zeb. It’s high time he had his hand in. Here, Zeb! shave that gintleman.
_Mike._ Oh, bother! Shave that gintleman.
_Zeb._ Shabe him,--shabe him? me shabe him? By golly! in coose,--in coose! (_To SIMPER._) Dar’s de cheer. Hist yerself,--hist yerself!
_Zeb._ Hist yerself, honey! Discompose yerself in dat are cheer.
_Simper._ Now, weally, the ideah of placing myself in the hands of such a howible cweecher! It’s too bad,--it is weally. (_Sits in chair, &c. ZEB puts wrapper and towel about him._)
_Zeb._ Yes, well, I guess not; we use razors hea, we do.
_Mike._ Yes, sir, intirely, sir. (_Lathers him. ZEB lathers SIMPER, putting it plentifully in his mouth._)
_Simper._ Ph--ph--ph--! deuse take you; do you want to choke me with your nasty soap?
_Zeb._ Yes, well, I guess not. It’s jest as wholesome as flap-jacks and sirup. (_To MIKE._) I’ve got him lathered: what will I do with him now?
_Mike._ Do, you spalpeen?--do wid him as I do wid de _other_ chap. (_Takes the razor._) Now for my first attimpt at shaving. Blessed St. Patrick, befrind me, or I be afthir cuttin’ his wizen.
_Zeb._ (_Goes to table, taking razor._) I’m to do as Mike does: golly, I kin do dat jist. (_During the next speeches he runs between the two chairs, watching MIKE, and shaving SIMPER._)
_Simper._ Now, bawbaw, do your neatest; for, in a few minutes, I shall be at the feet of a divine cweecher.
_Zeb._ Screecher! does she play on de banjo too.
_Simper._ Be careful now, don’t destwoy the symmetwy of my whiskaws.
_Zeb._ (_aside_). Sim--sim--sim--what am dat? By golly, Mike’s taking de whiskers off dat chap of his’en.
_Simper._ I say, bawbaw: in a few minutes I shall thwow myself at the feet of this divine cweecher; and I shall say--
_Crusty._ Confound you, stupid, you’ve cut me--
_Mike._ Oh, murder! it was the razor. Bedad, I wish I was well out of this.
_Simper._ Oh!--murder!--murder! you’ve cut me hawwibly!
_Zeb._ By golly, so I has. (_Aside._) Must do jes as Mike does.