An elderly and excited Irishwoman. Ah, bad luck to 'im, the murtherin' scounthril! wants a toitle, dees he? Jist th' loike of all thim Saxon opprissors, th' toirant. What does he care hwhat becomes o' th' poor Oirish, so long as he gets his billyfull?
[She pours a stream of denunciation into the ears of the nearest Radical.
The Radical (soothingly). Good 'ole Bridget. But look 'ere, you needn't come and talk to me about it. (Indicating a Tory neighbour. You go an' tell 'im!
[Which Bridget does, volubly; more portraits are exhibited. One of Mr. Justin McCarthy being hailed with cries of "Brayvo, Labby!" and "Our Cartoonist" being instantly recognised as the late Mr. Parnell.
Radical Spectators (after results of polling at Deptford, Halifax, Hartlepool, Bristol (North), (&c.). Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Well, I'm sure! Macnamara, the man 'oo polled the 'ighest votes in the School Board Election—and look at him now! If Sidney Webb 'ud ha' contested that, 'e'd a' won it!... There's another seat we've lost. Well, I was 'appier standing 'ere this time three years ago, blow'd if I wasn't!... Oh lor, my brother-in-law 'll go wild over this. My ole uncle 'll go arf orf his 'ed. (&c., &c.)
An Irrelevant Person. Tork about Tories! Why, I'll lay anybody a shillin' Jem Smith, the fighting man, 's a Tory, and all o' them prize-fighters are—and that's 'ow it's done!
First Lounger. 'Oo ain't a workin' man? I lay I work as 'ard as what you do, come now!
Second Lounger. What are yer then? A mat-seller?
First Lounger (indignantly). Garn! A mat-seller? I'm a bloomin' toe-walker, I am. Lean up agin the doors o' public-'ouses, I do, and work 'ard at it!