Archie. Didn't you see me wink? That ass Simpson's banged his nose against a door-post and is bleeding like a pig. Says it's because he hadn't got his spectacles.
Me (still annoyed). More likely the champagne.
Archie. They're dropping keys down his back as hard as they can. Will you and Myra gag a bit, till he's ready?
Me (excitedly). My good fool, how on earth——
Myra (coming to back of stage). But behold he returns. (Frowns imperiously.)
Rat-catcher (coming on again very unwillingly). Ah, fair maid, 'tis thee. I bring thee good tidings. I met one in the ante-room, a long-legged, scurvy fellow, who did tell me that his Majesty was delayed on some business.
Maid. That must have been his Conjuror—I know him well. (Aside.) What's happened?
Rat-catcher. Let us then rest a while, an it please thee. (Seizing her by the arm.) Over here. That ass Simpson's hurt himself. We've got to amuse the audience till he's finished bleeding.
Maid (sitting down with her back to audience). I say, is it really serious?
Rat-catcher. Not for him; it is for us. Now then, talk away.