Mr. A. (temporising feebly). Er—suppose I give each of you a hand, eh?
The Plain S. No; I can't go along fast, like you and Florrie. You promised to look after me, and I'm perfectly helpless alone!
The Pretty S. Then, am I to go by myself, Mr. Ackmey?
Mr. A. I—I think—just for a little, if you don't mind!
The Pretty S. Mind? Not a bit! There's Clara Willoughby and her brother on the next ring, I'll go over to them. Take good care of Alice, Mr. Ackmey. Good-bye for the present.
[She goes; Alice doesn't think Mr. A. is "nearly so nice as he used to be."
The Reckless Rough. Now then, I'm on 'ere. Clear the way, all of yer! Parties must look out fur themselves when they see me a comin', I carn't stop fur nobody!
[Rushes round the ring at a tremendous pace.
An Admiring Sweeper (following his movements with enthusiasm). Theer he goes—the Ornimental Skyter! Look at 'im a buzzin' round! Lor, it's a treat to see 'im bowlin' 'em all over like a lot er bloomin' ninepins! Go it, ole Franky, my son—don't you stop to apollergise!... Ah, there he goes on his nut agen! 'E don't care, not 'e!... Orf he goes agin!... That's another on 'em down, and ole Franky atop—'e'll 'ave the ring all to 'isself presently! Up agin! Oh, ain't he lovely! I never see his loike afore nowheres.... Round yer go—that's the stoyle! My eyes, if he ain't upset another—a lydy this time—she's done 'er skytin fur the d'y any 'ow! and ole Frank knocked silly.... Well, I ain't larfed ser much in all my life! [He is left laughing.