Hold up, Guv. [Wyke enters.] Oh, bother!
Wyke.
[To Mr. Posket.] Going out, sir?
Mr. Posket.
[Struggling to be articulate.] No—yes—that is—partially—half round the Square, and possibly—er—um—back again. [To Cis.] Oh, you bad boy!
Wyke.
[Coolly going up to the paper on curtains.] Shall I take this down now, sir?
Mr. Posket.
[Quietly to Cis.] I’m in an awful position! What am I to do?