Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 102, April 9, 1892

The Reader will kindly imagine that he has crossed Hammersmith Bridge, and is being carried along by a jostling stream of sightseers towards Mortlake. The banks are already occupied—although it still wants half an hour to the time fixed for the start—by a triple row of the more patient and prudent spectators. On the left of the path, various more or less Shady Characters have established their pitches, and are doing their best to beguile the unsophisticated.
First Shady Character ( presiding over a particoloured roulette board with a revolving and not unmanageable index ). Three to one any colour you like! Fairest game in the world! I'm a backin' I'm a layin'.... Pop it on, you sportsmen! ( Two Sportsmen— a couple of shop-boys — pop it on , in coppers .) Yaller was your colour—and it is a yaller cap, sure enough! I 'm a payin' this time. Try it again! ( They do. ) Blue's your fancy this turn, my lord. And green it is ! Good ole Hireland for ever! Twenty can play at this game as well as one! Don't be afraid o' yer luck—'ave another go. Red did you put your coppers on? And it's yaller again—and you lose! ( The Sportsmen pass on—with empty pockets .) Fairest game in the world!
Third S.C. ( who is crouching on ground by a tin case, half covered with a rug, and yelling ). Ow-ow-ow-ow!... Come an' see the wonderful little popsy-wopsy Marmoseet, what kin tork five lengwidges, walk round, shake 'ands, tell yer 'is buthday, 'is percise age, and where he was keptured!
Fifth S.C. ( a fat, fair man, with an impudent frog-face, who is trying desperately hard to take in a sceptical crowd with the too familiar purse-trick ). Now look 'ere, I don't mind tellin' yer all, fair an ' frank, I'm 'ere to get a bit, if I can ; but, if you kin ketch me on my merits , why, I shan't grumble—I'll promise yer that much! Well, now—( to a stolid and respectable young Clerk )—jest to show you don't know me , and I don't know you —( he throws three half-crowns into the purse ). There, 'old that for me. Shut it. ( The Clerk does so, grinning. ) Thank you—you're a gentleman, though you mayn't look like it—but perhaps you're one in disguise. Now gimme 'arf a crown for it. Yer won't? Any one gimme arf a crown for it? Why—( unprintable language )—if ever I see sech a blanky lot o' mugs in my life! 'Ere, I'll try yer once more! ( He does. ) Now oo'll gimme arf a crown for it? ( To a Genteel Onlooker, with an eyeglass, who has made an audible comment ) See 'ow it's done! So yer orter, with a glazier's shop where yer eye orter be! Well, if anyone had 'a told me I should stand 'ere, on Boat-Race Day too, orferin' six bob for arf a crown, and no one with the ordinary pluck an' straightforwardness to take me at my word, I'd have suspected that man of tellin' me a untruth! ( To a simple-looking spectator. ) Will you 'old this purse for me? Yer will? Well. I like the manly way yer speak up! ( Here the Gent. Onl., observing a seedy man slinking about outside, warns the company to mind their pockets —which excites the Purse-seller's just indignation .) Ere!—( to the G.O.) you take your 'ook! I've 'ad enough o' you. I 'ave. You're a bloomin' sight too officious, you are! Not much in your pockets to mind—'cept the key o' the street, and a ticket o' leave, I'll lay! If you carn't beyave as a Gentleman among Gentlemen, go 'ome to where you 'ad your 'air cut last—to Pentonville! ( The G.O. retires. ) There, we shall get along better without ' im . 'Ow long are you goin' to keep me 'ere? Upon my word an' honour, it's enough to sicken a man to see what the world's come to! Where's yer courage? Where's yer own common sense? Where's your faith in 'umin nature? What do yer expect ? ( Scathingly. ) Want me to wrop it up in a porcel, and send it 'ome for yer? Is that what yer waitin' for! Dammy, if this goes on, I shall git wild, and take and give the bloomin' purse a bath! ( The Simple Spectator feels in his pockets—evidently for a half-crown .) 'Ere, you look more intelligent than the rest—I'll try yer jest this once. Jest to show yer don't know me, and—( Shouts of They're off! They're coming! from the bank; the Purse-seller's audience suddenly melts away, leaving him alone with the Seedy Slinker.) 'Ere, JIM, we may as well turn it up. 'Ere come them blanky boats!