"Oh, our Music Halls? they are perfection, of course," he said. "The entertainments there are distinguished by humour of the most refined and intellectual order. It only struck me that they mayn't be quite the same here, you know, that's all."
"We shall see, Sir, we shall see," said TIME. "I don't think I'm particularly difficult to amuse." By this time they had entered the dazzling hall, and, reclining on sumptuous seats, were prepared to bestow their best attention upon the proceedings. A stout man with a fair wig, a dyed moustache and a blue chin, occupied the stage. He was engaged in representing a Member of the Seriocomican aristocracy with irresistible powers of social fascination, and he wore a loose-caped cloak over garments of closely-fitting black, which opened in front to display a mass of crumpled white, amidst which scintillated an enormous jewel. In his hand he held a curious black disc, with which he beat time to a ditty, of which Mr. Punch only succeeded in catching the following refrain:—
"Oh, I 'ave sech a w'y with the loydies! All the dorlins upon me are gorn!
For they soy—'Yn't he noice! you can tell by his vice,
He's a toff and a gentleman born!'"
And here the singer suddenly caused the black disc to expand with a faint report to a cylindrical form of head-dress, which he placed upon one side of his head, amidst thunders of approval.
But TIME seemed rather depressed than exhilarated by this performance.
"He ought to be kicked off the stage," he muttered. "I'd do it myself if I was younger!"
"You would make a mistake," said Mr. Punch; "he is just the person that a Music Hall audience idolises as their highest ideal of a man and gentleman—in Seriocomix."
"At least," said TIME, "you wouldn't stand such an outrageous cad as that in any of your Music Halls, I hope?"