"Well, when I sees you in them robes it puts me in mind of the dear old Pantomime, when little Alice flings herself at the Lord Mayor's feet," and here, overcome with past recollections of the drama, the fat lady sunk upon her knees, and dramatically clasping the robes of Sir Simon, to that worthy old gentleman's utter confusion and consternation, at the same time gave forth aloud the doggerel lines that had once accompanied the incident in the play—
"Oh! Dad, I'm your Alice, in whom you're disappointed,
And here is Dick Whittington, whose nose was out-of-jointed,
Though your heart be as cold as an icicle king's,
Forgive us and say we are nice 'ikkle things."
"Oh, hush! hush! dreadful," implored the Lord Mayor, endeavouring in vain to extricate himself from the dramatic lady's clutches.
At this moment a gruff judicial voice, which sent an immediate thrill down the worthy Lord Mayor's back, broke in upon the scene.
"Now, then, what's all this? Move on, there!"
A dark blue policeman stood in the pale blue moonlight.
The Lord Mayor only shivered.
The dramatic lady was equal to the occasion.
"Aren't we a picture?" she asked coquettishly.
"Get up, then," commanded the policeman dryly, "and be a movin' one."