In an Omnibus.
The majority of the inside passengers, as usual, sit in solemn silence, and gaze past their opposite neighbours into vacancy. A couple of Matrons converse in wheezy whispers.
First Matron. Well, I must say a bus is pleasanter riding than what they used to be not many years back, and then so much cheaper, too. Why you can go all the way right from here to Mile End Road for threepence!
Second Matron. What, all that way for threepence—(with an impulse of vague humanity). The poor 'orses!
First Matron. Ah, well, my dear, it's Competition, you know,—it don't do to think too much of it.
Conductor (stopping the bus). Orchard Street, Lady!
[To Second Matron, who had desired to be put down there.
Second Matron (to Conductor). Just move on a few doors further, opposite the boot-shop. (To First Matron.) It will save us walking.
Conductor. Cert'inly, Mum, we'll drive in and wait while you're tryin' 'em on, if you like—we ain't in no 'urry!
[The Matrons get out, and their places are taken by two young girls, who are in the middle of a conversation of thrilling interest.