At the right, towards foreground, a chimney-place, with smoldering
fire. Above is a shelf on which are iron candlesticks and short bits of
candles that show economy. Against the right wall a round mahogany
table. On it another iron candlestick, which has been lighted. A punch-
bowl. Cups. A ladle. Also a brass bowl beneath which a small charcoal
flame burns, keeping hot the lemonade. Beyond this table a dark wooden
chest with a heavy lock. Under the window in left background a similar
chest.

By the hearth, facing audience, a long seat with a high back and pew-
like ends. At the rise of the curtain, Thomas Rigby, the rubicund
landlord, is lighting with a taper the candles that stand on the
mantelshelf, the buttons on his plum-colored waistcoat twinkling in the
gleam. He has only lighted one when the door is pushed open, and there
enter two young British lieutenants, mere lads, whose scarlet cloaks,
exaggerated lace wrist ruffles, and brilliant gold braiding make a fine
showing. But Thomas Rigby shows no look of welcome.

MARSH.
Hey, landlord! Brrrr! It's cold! Give us something to warm us.

PENROSE
(foppishly).
Aye, and be brisk about it. I do not wish to be served in a loitering
fashion.

[Rigby makes as if to speak; but restrains himself, and, with a look of
quiet scorn, serves them hot lemon punch. Penrose is by the fire. Marsh
by the window.