Chorus of Chaff from the bridges and terraces as they pass. 'Ullo, 'ere comes another boat-load! 'Igher up, there!... Four-wheeler!... Ain't that toff in the tall 'at enjoyin' himself? Quite a 'appy funeral! &c., &c.
Mrs. L.S. (faintly, as they enter the Canal in front of the Stage). LAVENDER, dear, I really can't stand this much longer!
Mr. L.S. (to the Bloated Youth). Might I ask you, Sir, not to puff your smoke in this lady's face—it's extremely unpleasant for her!
The B.Y. All right, Mister, I'm always ready to oblige a lydy—but—(with wounded pride)—as to its bein' unpleasant, yer know, all I can tell yer is—(with sarcasm)—that this 'appens to be one of the best tuppeny smokes in 'Ammersmith!
Mr. L.S. (diplomatically). I am sure of that—from the aroma, but if you could kindly postpone its enjoyment for a little while, we should be extremely obliged!
The B.Y. Well, I must keep it aloive, yer know. If there's anyone 'ere that understands cigars, they'll bear me out as it never smokes the same when you once let it out.
[The other Passengers confirm him in this epicurean dictum, whereupon he sucks the cigar at intervals behind Mrs. L.S.'s back, during the remainder of the trip.
Mr. L.S. (to Mrs. L.S. when they are alone again). Well, MIMOSA, illusion successful, eh? Mrs. L.S. Oh, don't!
