[His Companions titter, and declare "it really is too bad of him!"
Herr V. K. Bresently, Sare,—zere is somtings ailse, it feels loike—yes, it ees—a mahouse-drap. Your haid is drouble vid moice, Sare, yes? Bot zere is none 'ere in ze 'at!
The M. in E. D. (with rather feeble indignation). I never said there were.
Herr V. K. No, zere is no mahouse—bot—[diving again]—ha! a leedle vide rad! Anozzer vide rad! And again a vide rad—and one, two, dree more vide rads! You vind zey keep your haid noice and cool, Sare? May I drouble you to com and dake zem avay? I don't loike the vide rads myself, it is madder of daste. [The Audience snigger.] Oh, bot vait—zis is a most gonvenient 'at—[extracting a large feeding-bottle and a complete set of baby-linen]—ze shentelman is vairy domestic I see. And zere is more yet, he is goot business man, he knows ow von must hadvertise in zese' ere toimes. 'E 'as 'elp me, so I vill 'elp 'im by distributing some of his cairculars for 'im.
[He showers cards, commending somebody's self-adjusting trousers amongst the Audience, each person receiving about two dozen—chiefly in the eye—until the air is dark, and the floor thick with them.
The M. in E. D. (much annoyed). Infernal liberty! Confounded impudence! Shouldn't have had my hat if I'd known he was going to play the fool with it like this!
First Lady in Plush Cloak. But I thought you knew what was coming?
The M. in E. D. So I did—but this fellow does it differently.
[Herr Von K. is preparing to fire a marked half-crown from a blunderbuss into a crystal casket.
A Lady with Nerves (to her husband). John, I'm sure he's going to let that thing off!