'ere once after you.
You'll _ketch_ it!

_Albert_ (_sotto voce_). Not till Father ketches _us_, we shan't. Keep
still, 'ENERY--we're all right under 'ere!

_Sarah_ (_more diplomatically_). 'ENERY! ALBERT! Father's bin and left
a 'ap'ny apiece for yer. Ain't yer comin' up for it? If yer don't want
it, why, stay where you are, that's all!

_Albert_ (_to 'Enery_). I _knoo_ we 'adn't done nothin'. An' I'm goin'
up to git that ap'ny, I am.

_'Enery_. So'm I. [_They emerge, and ascend the steps--to be pounced
upon immediately by the ingenious SARAH._

_Sarah_. 'Ap'ny, indeed! You won't git no 'apence _'ere, I_ can tell
yer--so jest you come along 'ome with me!

[Illustration: "Come to these legs!"]

[_Exeunt ALBERT and 'ENERY, in captivity, as the Niggers
enter the circle._

_Bones._ We shall commence this afternoon by 'olding our Grand Annual
Weekly Singing Competition, for the Discouragement of Youthful Talent.
Now then, which is the little gal to step out first and git a medal?
(_The Children giggle, but remain seated._) Not one? Now I arsk
_you_--What _is_ the use o' me comin' 'ere, throwin' away thousands
and thousands of pounds on golden medals, if you won't take the
trouble to stand up and sing for them? Oh, you'll make me so wild, I
shall begin spittin' 'alf-sovereigns directly--I _know_ I shall! (_A
little Girl in a sun-bonnet comes forward._) Ah, 'ere's a young lady
who's bustin' with melody, _I_ can see. Your name, my dear? Ladies
and Gentleman, I have the pleasure to announce that Miss CONNIE COCKLE
will now appear. Don't curtsey till the Orchestra gives the chord.
(_Chord from the harmonium--the Child advances, and curtsies with much
aplomb._) Oh, lor! call _that_ a curtsey--that's a _cramp_, that
is! Do it all over again! (_The Child obeys, disconcerted._) That's
_worse_! I can see the s'rimps blushin' for yer inside their paper
bags! Now see Me do it. (Bones _executes a caricature of a curtsey,
which the little Girl copies with terrible fidelity_.) That's
_ladylike_--that's genteel. Now sing _out! (The Child sings the first
verse of a popular Music-hall song, in a squeaky little voice._) Talk
about nightingales! Come 'ere, and receive the reward for extinguished
incapacity. On your knees! (_The little Girl kneels before him while
a tin medal is fastened upon her frock._) Rise, Sir CONNIE COCKLE! Oh,
you _lucky_ girl!

_The Child returns, swelling with triumph, to her companions,
sev