Mr. Posket.
[Giving him money.] Go to bed—buy a very good one. Your mistress has a latch-key—so—so you want a new umbrella!
Wyke.
All right, sir. You can depend on me. Are you well muffled up, sir? Mind you take care of him, Master Cis.
Cis.
[Supporting Mr. Posket; Mr. Posket groaning softly.] Capital, Guv, capital. Are you hungry?
Mr. Posket.
Hungry! You’re a wicked boy. I’ve told a falsehood.
Cis.
No, you haven’t, Guv—he really does want a new umbrella.