(Washerwoman. Enter left, carrying basket of wash.)
(Fishmonger. Enter right—Fresh herrin’, all alive, all alive, all alive. Herrin’, fresh herrin’, twelve fer a shillin’. Note: As she passes the shop of Santa Claus, Mrs. Claus opens shop door.)
Mrs. Claus: Are you sure yer herrin’ are fresh?
Fishmonger: Mi lady, so ’elp me, they were swimmin’ in the sea this very mornin’.
Mrs. Claus: Wot are yer askin’ fer ’em?
Fishmonger: O’ny a shillin’ a dozen, lady.
Mrs. Claus: That’s wot I call dear for herrin’. Make it nine-pence and I’ll take a dozen.
Fishmonger: No, ma’am, not if I never sell ’em (walks away.) Fresh herrin’, herrin’, herrin’, herrin’, all alive, all alive, (suddenly turns again.) Well, missus, seeing as I on’y have a few left, ’ere yer are, tak ’em at yer own price. Counts out herring and exit.
(At this point Santa Claus locks up his shop for the night, puts up shutters in front of windows and returns into shop.)