[Miss L. bounds on to the stage, and begins her song.
Mr. Redb. (to Footman). I've got a bone to pick with you, old feller. Don't you go wool-gatherin' to-night, as you did last. I've told you till I'm tired that when you see me chuck this property piecrust into the wings you've got to throw down these fire-irons—it's a safe laugh every time it comes off, and you know 'ow important it is, and yet you forget it nine times out of ten! What's the good of me thinkin' out my business when you go and crab it for me?
Footm. (pathetically). Mr. Redbeak, Sir, you'll excuse me, but I'm on'y one man 'ere, I ain't a 'undred. Don't thank 'eaven for it, Sir, it's 'ard when a man as tries to do his best, and with all my responsibilities on him——
Mr. Redb. (impatiently). Oh, cheese it; you're not on a stool in 'Ide Park, are you? I'm only tellin' you.
Miss L. (on stage, singing chorus).
Say, boys, say, if you'd like to come. Who's for a merry old "Tiddley-um?"
Fall in behind, and we'll all get "blind," before they close the pub!
You're not jays, so you won't refuse. Join our band, for we're on the booze,
And you'll see some larks with the rollicking sparks of the Rowdy Razzle Club!
(Here she capers off, brandishing a gibus, and has a difficulty in opening the practicable door in the wing. To Footman.) There you are again! How often am I to tell you to keep that wood open for my dance off? I break my fingers over it every blessed night, and lose my encore as well!