The Opt. Husb. Go on!—you didn't suppose you'd find the Paddington Canal in these parts, did you? This is big enough for all they want. (A gondola goes by lurchily, crowded with pot-hatted passengers, smoking pipes, and wearing the uncomfortable smile of children enjoying their first elephant-ride.) That's one o' these 'ere gondoalers—it's a rum-looking concern, ain't it? But I suppose you get used to 'em—(philosophically)—like everything else!
The P.M. It gives me the creeps to look at 'em. Talk about 'earses!
The Opt. Husb. Well, look 'ere, we've come out to enjoy ourselves—what d'ye say to having a ride in one, eh?
The P.M. You won't ketch me trusting myself in one o' them tituppy things, so don't you deceive yourself!
The Opt. Husb. Oh, it's on'y two foot o' warm water if you do tip over. Come on! (Hailing Gondolier, who has just landed his cargo.) 'Ere, 'ow much'll you take the lot of us for, hey?
Gondolier (gesticulating). Teekits! you tek teekits—là—you vait!
Jem. He means we've got to go to the orfice and take tickets and stand in a cue, d'yer see?
The P.M. Me go and form a cue down there and get squeeged like at the Adelphi Pit, all to set in a rickety gondoaler! I can see all I want to see without messing about in one o' them things!
The Others. Well, I dunno as it's worth the extry sixpence, come to think of it. (They pass on, contentedly.)
Jem. We're on the Rialto Bridge now, LIZZIE, d'ye see? The one in SHAKSPEARE, you know.