Bones (outraged). All right, you leave him to me. (To ALF.) Kin it be? That necktie! them familiar coat-buttons! that paper-dicky! You are—you are my long-lost Convick Son, 'ome from Portland! Come to these legs! (He embraces ALF, and smothers him with kisses.) Oh, you've been and rubbed off some of your cheek on my complexion—you dirty boy! (He playfully "bashes" ALF's hat in.) Now show the comp'ny how pretty you can sing. (ALF attempts a Music-hall ditty, in which he, not unnaturally, breaks down.) It ain't my son's fault, Ladies and Gentlemen, it's all this little gal in front here, lookin' at him and makin' him shy! (To a small Child, severely.) You oughter know worse, you ought! (Clumps of sea-weed and paper-balls are thrown at ALF, who by this time is looking deplorably warm and foolish.) Oh, what a popilar fav'rite he is to be sure!
Charley (to Miss S.). Poor fellow, he ain't no match 'for those Niggers—not like he is now! Hadn't I better go to the rescue, Miss Loo?
Miss S. (pettishly). I'm sure I don't care what you do.
["CHORLEY" succeeds, after some persuasion, in removing the unfortunate ALF.
Alf. (rejoining his fiancée with a grimy face, a smashed hat, and a pathetic attempt at a grin). Well? I done it, you see!
Miss S. (crushingly). Yes, you have done it! And the best thing you can do now, is to go home and wash your face. I don't care to be seen about with a laughing-stock, I can assure you! I've had my dignity lowered quite enough as it is!
Alf. But look 'ere, my dear girl, I can't leave you here all by yourself, you know!
Miss S. I daresay Mr. PERKINS will take care of me.
[Mr. P. assents, with effusion.
Alf. (watching them move away—with bitterness). I wish all Niggers were put down by Act of Parliament, I do! Downright noosances—that's what they are!