Mrs. F. Tell him to turn round, and go home.
Mr. F. It's no use going on like this. Turn back.
Peacock. I dursn't leave the kerb—all I got to go by, Sir.
Mr. F. Then take one of the lamps, and lead the horse.
Peacock. It's the young 'orse, Sir.
Mr. F. (sinking back). We must put up with it, I suppose.
[A smart crack is heard at the back of the carriage.
More Voices. Now, then, why the blanky dash, &c., &c.
Mrs. F. MARMADUKE, I can't sit here, and know that a bus-pole may come between us at any moment. Let us get out, and take a cab home at once.
Mr. F. There's only one objection to that suggestion—viz., that it's perfectly impossible to tell a cab from a piano-organ. We must find out where we are first, and then turn. PEACOCK, drive on as well as you can, and stop when you come to a shop.