An Attendant (as she arrives at the top). Not this door, Ma'am—next entrance for Modern Venice.
The Opt. Husb. You needn't go all the way down again, when the steps join like that!
The P.M. I'm not going to walk sideways—I'm not a crab, JOE, whatever you may think. (JOE assents, with reservations). Now wherever have those other two got to? 'urrying off that way! Oh, there they are. 'Ere, LIZZIE and JEM, keep along o' me and Father, do, or we shan't see half of what's to be seen!
Lizzie. Oh, all right, Ma; don't you worry so! (To JEM, her fiancé.) Don't those tall fellows look smart with the red feathers in their cocked 'ats? What do they call them?
Jem (a young man, who thinks for himself). Well, I shouldn't wonder if those were the parties they call "Doges"—sort o' police over there, d'ye see?
Lizzie. They're 'andsomer than 'elmets, I will say that for them. (They enter Modern Venice, amidst cries of "This way for Gondoala Tickets! Pass along, please! Keep to your right!" &c., &c.) It does have a foreign look, with all those queer names written up. Think it's like what it is, JEM?
Jem. Bound to be, with all the money they've spent on it. I daresay they've idle-ised it a bit, though.
The P.M. Where are all these kinals they talk so much about? I don't see none!
Jem (as a break in the crowd reveals a narrow olive-green channel). Why, what d'ye call that, Ma?
The P.M. That a kinal! Why, you don't mean to tell me any barge 'ud—