if you don't look as if you come out of a Pantomime
yourself, in them red robes! 'Ave yer been playing in a Pantomime?"

"Certainly not," replied Sir Simon, somewhat stiffly.

"Why, now I sees the light on your face, I knows you quite well; 'ow do
yer do, ole sport? I'm Alice; don't you remember little Alice in the
Pantomime of Dick Whittington ten years ago at Slocum Theatre Royal?
Why, you gave me a bouquet, and stood me two glasses of port."

The Lord Mayor groaned.

"Little Alice," he queried vaguely; "let me see, little Alice?"

"Yes," averred the lady, who must have weighed fully eighteen stone,
"shake hands, old pal."

The Lord Mayor felt thoroughly uncomfortable, more particularly as the
Writer joined him at that moment.

"Ahem! an old Pantomime friend," explained Sir Simon.

"Yes, my dears," continued the lady, "and I don't get no Pantomimes
now, been 'ard up, I 'ave, for a long time, can't even get chorus now;
but bless your 'earts! coming along to-night, when I gets to Trafalgar
Square, I somehow could 'ave declared I saw that there Lion a-laughing
at me, and then when I sees the wreath, blessed if I didn't want to
dance once again all of a sudden. Look 'ere, old sport, you used to
have plenty of the shinies in the old days, you used to chuck the 'oof
about a bit; I remember you was a-looking for some bloke who
wrote--that you had an idea in your 'ead all us girls wanted to marry."

The distressed Lord Mayor fumbled in his pockets and produced two
sovereigns.

"Thank you, ole dear," observed the lady, as she pocketed the gold with
alacrity, "you was always one of the best; and Cissie Laurie, that's
me, you know--Cissie--who used to play Alice, will always swear you are
a tip-top clipper. Lor! when I sees you in them robes, and you ain't
told me yet why you've got 'em on----

"An inadvertency," stuttered the Lord Mayor; "most unfortunate."

"Well, when I sees you in them robes it puts me in mind of the dear old
Pantomime, when little Alice flings herself at the Lord Mayor's feet,"
and here, overcome with past recollections of the drama, the fat lady
sunk upon her knees, and dramatically clasping the robes of Sir Simon,
to that worthy old gentleman's utter confusion and consternation, at
the same time gave forth aloud the doggerel lines that had once
accompanied the incident in the play--

"Oh! Dad, I'm your Alice, in whom you're disappointed,
And here is Dick Whittington, whose nose was