Father—"Will you stop pinching my little boy's legs. He ain't doing you no 'arm, is he?"
The Pinching Pit-ite—"Let him sit down, then!"
Father—"Let the lady take her 'at off!"
Murmurs Behind—"Order there! Set down! Put that boy down! Take off that 'at! Silence in front there! Turn 'em out! Shame!..."
The Husband of the Owner of the Hat (in a whisper to his wife)—"Take off the blessed 'at, and 'ave done with it, do!"
The Owner of the Hat—"What, now? I'd sooner die in the 'at!" (An attendant is called.)
Attendant—"Order, there, gentlemen, please, unless you want to get turned out! No standing allowed on the seats; you're disturbing the performance 'ere, you know!" (Jimmy is made to sit down, and weeps silently; the hubbub subsides, and the Owner of the Hat triumphs.)
Mother—"Never mind, my boy, you shall have mother's seat in a minute. I dessay, if all was known, the lady 'as reasons for keeping her 'at on, pore thing!"
Father—"Ah, I never thought o' that. So she may. Very likely her 'at won't come off—not without her 'air!"
Mother—"Ah, well, then we mus'n't be 'ard on her."