Part 7 (1/2)

[_To TARVER, admiringly._] Charles the First! Oh, Major!

DARBEY.

That was my idea--Charles the Martyr, you know. Tarver's a martyr to his liver--see?

SHEBA.

Oh! sha'n't we all look magnificent?

SALOME.

Oh!

TARVER.

Grand idea--the whole thing!

DARBEY.

Regular army notion!

[_They are all in a state of great excitement when THE DEAN re-enters, with an anxious look, carrying a bundle of papers._

SALOME.

Here is Papa!

[_They rush to various seats, all in constrained att.i.tudes._

TARVER.

[_To THE DEAN._] We waited to say--good-morning.

THE DEAN.

[_Taking his hand, abstractedly._] How kind! Good-morning!

DARBEY.

Six o'clock sharp, Dean?

THE DEAN.

At six, punctually. Salome, represent me by escorting these gentlemen to the gate. [_SALOME, TARVER, and DARBEY go out. SHEBA is following slyly when THE DEAN looks up from his papers._] Sheba!

SHEBA.

Papsey!

THE DEAN.