Concealing the fact that we’re going to have a bit of supper at the Hotel des Princes, is doing my mother a great kindness, because it would upset her considerably to know of the circumstances. You’ve been wrong, Guv, but we won’t say anything more about that. Read the letter.
[Gives Mr. Posket the letter.
Mr. Posket.
[Reading in a dazed sort of a way.] “Hotel des Princes, Meek Street, W. Dear Sir,—Unless you drop in and settle your arrears, I really cannot keep your room for you any longer. Yours obediently, Achille Blond. Cecil Farringdon, Esq.” Good heavens! You have a room at the Hotel das Princes!
Cis.
A room! It’s little better than a coop.
Mr. Posket.
You don’t occupy it?
Cis.
But my friends do. When I was at Brighton I was in with the best set—hope I always shall be. I left Brighton—nice hole I was in. You see, Guv, I didn’t want my friends to make free with your house.