Footm. I'm exceedingly sorry, miss, but the fact of the matter is my attention was took off at the time owing to——
Miss L. Oh, hold your jaw, do.
Footm. (to himself). I'm to hold my jaw! Oh, these hartistes, they lead me a dorg's life among 'em!
Mr. Redb. (touching Miss L.'s coat as she passes). What's that badge you're wearing? Salvation Army, Temperance, Primrose League, or what?
Miss L. No, only the colours of the Balls Pond Football Team; they presented them to me the other day. I told them I didn't play football.
Mr. Redb. You're pretty fair at the 'igh kick though, ain't you? There, there. 'Alf time. Goin' on again?
Miss L. With a cold like mine? Not likely. Just look at my tongue! (She protrudes the tip of an indigo-coloured tongue for his inspection.)
Mr. Redb. (concerned). Why, it's like one o' those Chow-chow dogs, I'm blest if it isn't! You are off colour to-night, no mistake!
Miss L. Oh, that's the remedy, not the disease—liquorice, you know.
Stage-M. Now, Alf, if you're in such a hurry, go on. Cut it as short as you like—no extra turns to-night.