Lord B. (triumphantly). And so—oh, Father, Mother, Rose—dear, dear Rose—I am no acrobat after all!
The E. (sternly). Would you were anything half so serviceable to the community, Sir! I have no superstitious reverence for rank, and am, I trust, sufficiently enlightened to discern worth and merit—even beneath the spangled vest of the humblest acrobat. Your foster-brother, brief as our acquaintance has been, has already endeared himself to all hearts, while you have borne a trifling reverse of fortune with sullen discontent and conspicuous incapacity. He has perfected himself in a lofty and distinguished profession during years spent by you, Sir, in idly cumbering the earth of Eton and Oxford. Shall I allow him to suffer by a purely accidental coincidence? Never! I owe him reparation, and it shall be paid to the uttermost penny. From this day, I adopt him as my eldest son, and the heir to my earldom, and all other real and personal effects. See, Robert Henry, that you treat your foster-brother as your senior in future!
Coltsf. (to Lord B). Way-oh, ole matey, I don't bear no malice, I don't! Give us your dooks.
[Offering hand.
The C. Ah, Bullsaye, try to be worthy of such generosity!
[Lord B. grasps Coltsfoot's hand in silence.
Lady Rose. And pray, understand that, whether Mr. Coltsfoot be viscount or acrobat, it can make no difference whatever to the disinterested affection with which I have lately learnt to regard him.
[Gives her hand to Coltsfoot, who squeezes it with ardour.
Coltsf. (pleasantly). Well, Father, Mother, your noble Herlship and Lady, foster-brother Bullsaye, and my pretty little sweetart 'ere, what do you all say to goin' inside and shunting a little garbage, and shifting a drop or so of lotion, eh?
The E. A most sensible suggestion, my boy. Let us make these ancient walls the scene of the blithest—ahem!—beano they have ever yet beheld!