t?

_A Sardonic Loafer._ 'Ullo, 'ere's a 'aughty one! layin' back and
puttin' up 'er glorses! Know us agen, Mum, won't you? You may well
look--you ain't seen so much in yer ole life as what you're seein'
to-day, _I_'ll lay! Ah, you ought to feel honoured, too, all of us
comin' out to look at yer. Drored 'er blind down, this one 'as, yer
see--knew she wasn't wuth looking at!

[_A carriage passes; the footman on the box is adorned by an enormous
nosegay, over which he can just see._

_First Comic Cockney_ Ow, I s'y--you _'ave_ come out in bloom,
JOHNNY!

_Second C. C._ Ah, they've bin forcin' _'im_ under glorse, they'ave!
'Is Missis 'll never find 'im under all them flowers. Ow, 'e smoiled
at me through the brornches!

[_Another carriage passes, the coachman and footmen of which are
undecorated._

_First C. C._ Shime!--they might ha' stood yer a penny bunch o'
voilets between yer, that they might!

_The Sardonic L._ 'Ere 's a swell turn-out and no mistake--with a
couple o' bloomin' beadles standin' be'ind! There's a full-fed 'un
inside of it too,--look at the dimonds all over 'er bloomin' old
nut. _My_ eye! (_The elderly dowager inside produces a cut-glass
scent-bottle of goodly size._) Ah, she's got a drop o' the right sort
in there--see her sniffin at it--it won't take 'er long to mop up that
little lot!

_Jeames (behind the carriage, to_ CHAWLES). Our old geeser's
perdoocin' the custimary amount o' sensation, eh, CHAWLEY?

_Chawles (under notice)._ Well, thank 'Eving, I shan't have to share
the responsibility of her _much_ longer!

_'Arriet (to_ ARRY). I wonder they don't get tired o' being stared at
like they are.

_'Arry._ Bless your 'art--_they_ don't mind--they _like_ it. They'll
go 'ome and s'y (_in falsetto_) "Ow, Pa, all the bloomin' crowd kep'
on a lookin' at us through the winder--it _was_ proime!"

_'Arriet (giggling admiringly)._ 'Ow do _you_ know the w'y they tork?

_'Arry (superior)._ Why, they don't tork partickler different from
what you and me tork--do they?

_First Mechanic._ See all them old blokes in red with the rum 'ats,
BILL? They're Beefeaters goin' to the Pallis, they are.

_Second M._ What do they do when they git there?

_First M._ Do? oh, mind the bloomin' stair-case, and chuck out them as
don't beyave themselves.

_A Restless Lady (to her husband)._ HARRY, I don't like this place
at all. I'm sure we could see better somewhere else. Do let's try and
squeeze in somewher