VOCES POPULI.
Scene—The People's Palace; In Building set apart for Poultry, Pigeon, and Rabbit Show. Stream of Visitors inspecting animals in zinc and wire pens.
Amandus Milendius (to Amanda Milendia: coming to a halt before cage containing "roopy"-looking fowl, with appearance of having been sent out on pair of legs several sizes too tall for it). They've 'ighly commended 'im, yer see.
Amanda M. (who does not converse with facility). Um!
[Looks at bird without seeing it.
Amandus. Yes, they must ha' thought 'ighly of 'im before they'd commend him like that, yer know!
Amanda (wishing she was readier of response). Ah! (The fowl winks slowly at her with his lower eyelid). Come away—I don't like him!
[They move on.
The Exhibitor (coming up and inspecting his bird with pride). 'Ere—Joe! (Fowl shuts both eyes with a bored expression). B'longs to me—that bird, Sir! (To Bystander.)
Visitor (from the West; anxious to be agreeable). Ha, a fine bird—magnificent!
Exhibitor. Bred 'im myself, Sir—he's a bit sleepy just now. (Apologetically). Wake up, ole chap! (Fowl half opens one eye, and closes it immediately on perceiving proprietor.) Knows me, yer see!
Visitor (with fatal rashness). A—a Brahma, isn't he?
[Wonders what made him say that, and tries to think what Brahmas are like—when they are not locks.
Exhibitor (in tone of pitying reproach). No, Sir—no.—Black Red Bantam, Sir!
Visitor (wishing he had remained vague). Oh—ah, just so—good evening.
A Cock (derisively). Crorky—rorky—roo!
At the Rabbit Pens.
Another Exhibitor (accompanied by Friend with Catalogue). I ain't come across my Buck yet. He took a prize, I heerd. (Stops at Cage.) Ah, this looks like him.... Third Prize, yer see—not so bad, eh? [Chuckles.
The Friend. Hold on a bit! (Refers to Catalogue.) "Number seven 'underd and two. Parton. Buck. Eight months." Your name ain't Parton.
Exhib. Then it's mine in the next. Second Prize! Better'n Third, that, ain't it?
The Friend. They've got that down as Parton's too.
Exhib. Well, I thought some'ow as——this is him anyway. Look 'ere! First Prize! And deserves it, though I sez it myself!
Friend (not without a certain satisfaction). No—no, you're wrong again. I'll show you where you are. See. "Seven 'underd and five. W. Cropper. Buck. Ten months." That's you!
Exhib. (incredulously). That? that ain't never my cream buck! (The rabbit remains wrapt in meditation.) I'll soon show yer. (Blows in rabbit's face. Mutual recognition. Tableau.) It is my buck! And only 'ighly commended! (Recovering himself.) Well, I arsk you if he oughtn't to ha' done the other—him as they've given the First Prize to? Why, there ain't no comparison between them two rabbits!
The Cock (encouragingly). Crorky-rorky-roo!
The Friend (losing all further interest). Well, it's all chance like. Let's go and 'ave a look at them Lops.
Crowd of Admirers around pen containing gigantic gander.
First Admirer. That's Wilkinses' gander, that is.
Second Admirer. A fine-grown bird, I will say.
[Handsomely, as if he would hardly have expected such a person as Wilkins to produce anything as good as that.
Third Admirer. Monster, ain't he? Why, yer might ride on him!
Small Child (pointing delightedly at the Gander). 'Ook, Mozzer, pitty duck!
Fond Parent (admiringly). I declare it's wonderful how quick he gets the names—it is a fine duck!
The Cock (with a touch of correction). Crorky—rorky—roo!
A Connoisseur (inspecting pigeon). Now, there's a nice pigeon—that is a nice pigeon; but I tell yer what it is—he ain't got the space to do hisself justice in there. Give him a bigger pen, and a brick to stand on, and you'd soon see the difference!
Fellow Conn. They ought to ha' give him more room to show off his tail in—else what's the good of a bird 'aving a tail, come to that?
First Conn. (sententiously). Ah, you've 'it it.
Competitor (apparently, unsuccessful). I say, (with bitter sarcasm) 'Are yer seen the pair as take a Fust? Birds I wouldn't pick up if I found 'em in the street—no, that I wouldn't! Fust Prize to them—hor-hor! Well, the world's comin' to a pretty pass, I must say! Arter that!—— [Eloquent aposiopesis.
Amandus (tolerantly, to Amanda). Well, pidgings are pretty much alike, unless you've been brought up to know the differences. I 'ad a Uncle a breeder.
Amanda (feeling that her ignorance is no longer a discredit). Then you'd know! [They go out arm-in-arm, silent but sympathetic.