"It's like singing to a lot of 'ap'ny ices!"
Miss Cinders (in a temper). Cold, it's like singing to a lot of 'ap'ny ices! I used to have the choruses all sung for me when I brought out that song first; and now they've let me go off without a 'and! We shall see whether they'll rise to Wildfire to-night. Ah, here he is. Actually coming up to speak to us; there's an honour!
Miss Betsy Beno (to Wildfire, as he passes the table where she is sitting waiting for her turn). 'Ere, Watty, old man, stop and 'ave a drop along of me. Do—there's plenty 'ere! (as Wildfire excuses himself laughingly). Well, I'm sure—refusing to drink when a lady goes out of her way to ask him—he hasn't the manners of a pig! And I draw my sixty quid a week the same as he does!
Mr. Tadman. Well, dear boy, how's the play getting on? Not a frost, I hope?
Wildfire. No; I just looked in on my way from the Val. here, and they seemed to think it was all right; but I couldn't stay till the finish. They're going to send round and let me know. (To the Small Boy, who has approached anxiously.) Oh, there you are, youngster! Yes, I shall want you—for the last time, you know.
The Boy. Why, you—you ain't going to take the part away from me, Sir, when I created it, too!
Wildf. (patting his shoulder kindly). I'm giving up singing altogether—that's why. Never mind; I'll see it makes no difference to you, so don't you distress yourself. We'll find you something or other to do.
The Boy (with a gulp). If I ain't going to be with you any more, I—I don't care what 'appens, Sir. I'd as soon throw up the perfession myself, I would!