Clews: ’Earken to that, will yer, these kids want to see Santa Claus—Ha! Ha! Ha! Say, Kiddie, there haint no Santa.
Harold: You are mistaken, sir, for sis and I saw him tonight, with our own eyes, but he walked so fast we couldn’t catch up to him.
Allcock: An’ w’ere might it be that yer saw the idol of yer dreams?
Harold: We saw him come from his shop in the square near the Black Bear.
Clews (aside): Say, mate, it’s the owd codjer, S. Claus, the kiddies are thinkin’ on. Wot der yer say if we giv ’em a lift. It’s not much the likes of uz can do to make anny body ’appy, but ’eres a little job we con do as well as anny on ’em.
Allcock: Yer rite, mate.
(Turning to children)
Come along, we’ll ’ave yer in front of ’is r’yal ’ighness in less nor a jiff’ey.
(Exit Poachers with the now happy children upon their shoulders, and their Christmas dinner safely bagged.)
(Enter King of the Imps—At blast of whistle the imps spring up behind the hedge.)