Mrs. F. What do you want to stop at a shop for?
Mr. F. Why, then I can go in, and ask where we are.
Mrs. F. And how do you expect them to know where we are! (She sees a smear of light in the distance.) MARMADUKE, there's a linkman. Get out quick, and hire him to lead the way.
Mr. F. (who gets out, and follows in the direction of the light, grumbling to himself). Hallo!—not past the Park yet—here's the railings! Well, if I keep close to them, I shall—(He suddenly collides with a bench.) Phew! Oh, confound it! (He rubs his shins.) Now, if it hadn't been for FANNY, I—Where's that linkman? Hi!—you there!—stop! (The light stops.) Look here—I want you to come to my carriage, and show my man the way out of this!
Voice from behind the Railings. We got to find our own way out fust, Guv'nor. We're inside!
A Belated Reveller (lurching up to Mr. F.) Beg your pardon, bur cou' you dreck me nearesht way—er—Dawshon Plashe?
Mr. F. (savagely). First turning to the right, third to the left, and then straight on till you come to it!
The B.R.. I'm exsheedingly 'blished; (confidentially) fact ish, I'm shuffrin' shli' 'fection eyeshi', an' I 'shure you, can't shee anyshing dishtingly to-ni'. (He cannons against a lamp-post, to which he clings affectionately, as a Policeman emerges from the gloom.)
Policeman. Now then, what are you doing 'ere, eh?
The B.R. Itsh all ri', P'lishman, thish gerrilman—(patting lamp-post affectionately)—has kindly promished shee me home.