Cis.
Now, then—we’ll creep downstairs quietly so as not to bring Wyke from his pantry. [Giving Mr. Posket paper.] You stick that up prominently, while I blow out the candles.
[Cis blows out the candles on the piano.
Mr. Posket.
[Reading.] “Your master and Mr. Cecil Farringdon are going to bed. Don’t disturb them.” I will not be a partner to any written document. This is untrue.
Cis.
No, it isn’t—we are going to bed when we come home. Make haste, Guv.
Mr. Posket.
Oh, what a boy.