Your boy! I take charge of him? Agatha Posket, he has been my evil genius! He has made me a gambler at an atrocious game, called “Fireworks”—he has tortured my mind with abstruse speculations concerning “Sillikin” and “Butterscotch” for the St. Leger—he has caused me to cower before servants, and to fly before the police.
Agatha Posket.
He! My Cis?
Cis enters having changed his clothes.
Cis.
[Breezily.] Hallo, mater—got back?
Agatha Posket.
You wicked boy! You dare to have apartments at the “Hotel des Princes!”
Mr. Posket.
Yes—and it was to put a stop to that which induced me to go to Meek Street last night.