ALI SLOPER; OR, THE FORTY LIARS
31
engaging Dr. Waistcoat’s
celebrated troupe of Variety Artistes
to per
form at intervals during the evening.
Mrs. Bones. I’m sure we’re very much obliged by your kindness;
I
trust it did not cost you too much.
Bowley.
Waistcoat
is an old friend of mine, you know; connected
with the Straights—the
Dover Straights—on
the mother’s side.
Non
Omnis Moriar is his motto.
Very likely;
but, on the other hand,he
’5
never
really
quite
alive;
so
one
can
bargain
with
him
to
great
advantage.
Mrs. Bones.
Well,
I’m sure it will all be most delightful.
We get
very little of the old-fashioned
Christmases now.
Bones. Two thousand years hence we shall all be saying
the
same
about Bowleymas Day in the sunset of Bowleyanity.
Bowley.
Respect
my
modesty—Pyrrho-Zoroastrianism,
if
you
please.
Mrs. Bones.
More
coffee?
Bowley.
Please.
You do not ask what your husband means.
Mrs. Bones.
I give you two up.
Bones. To-day we celebrate Christ’s birth;
then, Bowley’s.
Bowls).
I,hide
my blushes in thy breast, O babe!
[Does so;
the
child weeps]
Take
it,
for God’s sakel
[Done.
The child smiles.
Mrs. Bones. But
I
thought your birthday
was in October.
Bowley.
It is; and why did
I
arrange
it
on that date?
Because
I
knew
that
I
was
the
Messiah—pass
the
baby,
please !—and
that
people would celebrate the day according
to my word.
Mrs. Bones.
But why?
[BONES signals wildly to her, but in vain.
Bowley.
Because children born in summer thrive best.
Mrs. Bones.
But why?
Bowley.
Brother, you waste alarm.
They have ears and hear not.
But
I
am not talking;
I
am making my Table of Correspondences.
I
drink to my Table of Correspondences.
[Drinks
BONES picks ufia book on Indian Mystialrm.
Tlum
der.
Slow music.