a pot o' four arf, it
'ud be a _beginning_, like.

_The E._ You shall have every luxury that befits your rank, but first
remove that incongruous garb.

_Colts_, (_to_ Lord B.). These 'ere togs belong to _you_ now, young
feller, and I reckon exchange ain't no robbery.

_Lord B._ (_with emotion, to_ Countess). Mother, can you endure to
behold your son in tights and spangles on the very day of his majority?

_Countess_ (_coldly_). On the contrary, it is my wish to see him attired
as soon as possible, in a more appropriate costume.

_Lord B._ (_to_ Lady R.). ROSE, _you_, at least, have not changed? Tell
me you will love me still--even on the precarious summit of an acrobat's
pole!

_Lady Rose_ (_scornfully_). Really the presumptuous familiarity of the
lower orders is perfectly appalling!

_The Earl_ (_to_ Countess, _as_ Lord B. _and_ COLTSFOOT _retire to
exchange costumes_). At last, PAULINE, I understand why I could never
feel towards BULLSAYE the affection of a parent. Often have I reproached
myself for a coldness I could not overcome.

_Countess._ And I too! Nature was too strong for us. But, oh, the joy of
recovering our son--of finding him so strong, so supple, so agile. Never
yet has our line boasted an heir who can feed himself from a fork
strapped on to his dexter heel!

_The E._ (_with emotion_). Our beloved, boneless boy!

[_Re-enter_ COLTSFOOT _in modern dress, and_ Lord B. _in tights_.

_Colts._ Don't I look slap-up--O.K. and no mistake? Oh, I _am_ 'aving a
beano!

_All._ What easy gaiety, and unforced animation!

_The E._ My dear boy, let me present you to your _fiancee_. ROSE, my
love, this is your _legitimate_ lover.

_Colts._ Oh, all right, _I've_ no objections--on'y there'll be ructions
with the young woman in the tight-rope line as I've been keepin' comp'ny
with--that's all!

_The E._ Your foster-brother will act as your substitute there.
(_Proudly._) _My_ son must make no _mesalliance_!

_Rose_ (_timidly_). And, if it would give you any pleasure, I'm sure I
could soon learn the tight-rope!

_Colts._ Not at _your_ time o' life. Miss, and besides, 'ang it, now I'm
a lord, I can't have my wife doin' nothing low!

_The E._ Spoken like a true BURNTALMOND! And now let the revels
re-commence. [_Re-enter_ Mrs. HOREHOUND.

_Horeh._ (_to_ Lord B.). Now then, stoopid, tumble, can't you--what are
you 'ere _for_?

_Lord B._ (_to the_ Earl). Since it is your command, I obey, though it
is ill