[They go back and take up a position in front of the crowd on the curbstone.
The R. L. There, we shall see beautifully here, Harry.
A Crusty Matron (talking at the R. L. and her husband.) Well, I'm sure, some persons have got a cheek, coming in at the last minnit and standing in front of those that have stood here hours—that's ladylike, I don't think! Nor yet, I didn't come here to have my eye poked out by other parties' pairosols.
[Continues in this strain until the R. L. can stand it no longer, and urges her husband to depart.
Chorus of Policemen. Pass along there, please, one way or the other—keep moving there, Sir.
The R. L. But where are we to go—we must stand somewhere?
A Policeman. Can't stand anywhere 'ere, Mum.
[The unhappy couple are passed on from point to point, until they are finally hemmed in at a spot from which it is impossible to see anything whatever.
Harry. If you had only been content to stay where you were at first, we should have been all right!
The R. L. Nonsense, it is all your fault, you are the most hopeless person to go anywhere with. Why didn't you tell one of those policemen who we were?