The F. S. I'll show you again—it's really a neat thing when it's well done; you do it all on one leg, like this——
[Executes an elaborate back-fall.
His Friend. You seem to do most of it on no legs at all, old chap!
The F. S. Haven't practised it lately, that's all. Now here's a figure I invented myself. "The Swooping Hawk" I call it.
His Friend (unkindly—as the F. S. comes down in the form of a St. Andrew's Cross). Y—yes. More like a Spread Eagle though, ain't it?
"GO IT, OLE FRANKY, MY SON!"
Pretty Girl (to Mr. Ackmey, who has been privileged to take charge of herself and her Plain Sister). Do come and tell me if I'm doing it right, Mr. Ackmey. You said you'd go round with me!
The Plain S. How can you be so selfish, Florrie? You've had ever so much more practice than I have! Mr. Ackmey, I wish you'd look at my left boot—it will go like that. Is it my ankle—or what? And this strap is hurting me so! Couldn't you loosen it, or take me back to the man, or something? Florrie can get on quite well alone, can't she?