[Exit.
(The Signor here observes aloud, “Eet is so like ven I——” Madame says, sternly, “Hush, Mr. Regniati,” and he contents himself by finishing with a wink privately to me.)
Ja. Goot. I flatter myself I'm getting on with my German. Here's the arrival column . . English . . I look at this every day . . . because . . . um (reading it) . . . “Mr. and Mrs. Bloater, from Yarmouth, and all the little Bloaters . . . Major Bouncer” . . . goodness gracious! how extraordinary! . . . Major Bouncer . . . Oh it can't be the same, it must be one of his ancestors . . . or his posterity . . . “Major Bouncer of the Royal Banbury Light Horse” . . . pooh! fancy Bouncer on a light horse!
Ride a cock horse
To Banbury gorse
To see Major Bouncer
Upon a light horse;
Rings on his fingers . . . .
Stop a minute . . . Rings . . . Ah! (reads) “accompanied by Mrs. Bouncer, also of the Banbury Light Horse.” Of course, that settles it. It is not old Bouncer. Next, “Mr. and Mrs. Winkle, from Pinner.” Ah! at last . . . “Arrived at the Hotel, der Schwein und die Pfeife,” that's here—“Mrs. Penelope Anne Knox.” I only heard it the other day at Margate. There she sat. Radiant as ever. A widow for the second time. Originally widow of William Wiggins, of Margate and Ramsgate, and now widow of Nathaniel Knox, of the Docks, with a heap—a perfect heap—of money. Then my old passion returned. I determined to propose to her. I was about to do so, when on the very morning that I was going to throw myself at her feet, I caught this infernal rheumatism, which laid me on my back. When I recovered she was gone. “Where to?” says I. “Aix!” says they. My spirits mounted. I took a vast amount of pains to get to Aix, and here I am. I had heard of some property in Venice, which belonged to the Coxes some hundreds of years ago, and so I thought I'd join pleasure with business, and take Aix and Penelope Anne on the road. And now here she is. If Box had only known it, he'd have been after her. He's a first-rate fellow, is Box, but abominably mercenary and mean. He'd think nothing of proposing to Penelope Anne merely for her money. And I think nothing of a man who could do such a thing. So I've written to Box telling him to go to the North, and I'll come and stay with him for the shooting season. A little shooting Box in Scotland. Ha! ha! when I do go, it will be with Penelope Anne on my arm, as Mr. and Mrs. Cox. Let me see, when the hour strikes again, it will be time for my third tumbler—here it is—and the promenade. The Doctor says I must be punctual in drinking the water, so I'll put myself straight, and then, so to speak, lay myself out for the capture of Penelope Anne.
VERSES.
(“Les Pompiers de Nanterre.”)
I'm so very glad,
Feel so very jolly,
Like a little lad
Who has come home to play.
Now about I'll gad!
Widow melancholy!
She will be delighted
When I my addresses pay.
Tzing la la la! Tzing la la la!
I'm an artful dodger!
Tzing la la la! Tzing la la la!
Hey! for Victory!