The Conductor (roused to personality). Go 'ome, Dirty Dick! syme old soign, I see,—"Monkey an' Poipe!" (To Coachman of smart brougham which is pressing rather closely behind.) I say old man, don't you race after my bus like this—you'll only tire your 'orse.
[The Coachman affects not to have heard.
The Conductor (addressing the brougham horse, whose head is almost through the door of the omnibus). 'Ere, 'ang it all!—step insoide, if yer want to!
[Brougham falls to rear—triumph of Conductor as Scene closes.
At a Sale of High-Class Sculpture.
Scene—An upper floor in a City Warehouse; a low whitewashed room, dimly lighted by dusty windows and two gas-burners in wire cages. Around the walls are ranged several statues of meek aspect, securely confined in barred wooden cases, like a sort of marble menagerie. In the centre, a labyrinthine grove of pedestals, surmounted by busts, groups, and statuettes by modern Italian masters. About these pedestals a small crowd—consisting of Elderly Merchants on the look out for a "neat thing in statuary" for the conservatory at Croydon or Muswell Hill, Young City Men who have dropped in after lunch, Disinterested Dealers, Upholsterers' Buyers, Obliging Brokers, and Grubby and Mysterious men—is cautiously circulating.
Obliging Broker (to Amiable Spectator, who has come in out of curiosity, and without the remotest intention of purchasing sculpture). No Catlog, Sir? 'Ere, allow me to orfer you mine—that's my name in pencil on the top of it, Sir; and, if you should 'appen to see any lot that takes your fancy, you jest ketch my eye. (Reassuringly.) I sha'n't be fur off. Or look 'ere, gimme a nudge—I shall know what it means.
[The A. S. thanks him profusely, and edges away with an inward vow to avoid his and the Auctioneer's eyes, as he would those of a basilisk.
Auctioneer (from desk, with the usual perfunctory fervour). Lot 13, Gentlemen, very charming pair of subjects from child life—"The Pricked Finger" and "The Scratched Toe"—by Bimbi.