The Agr. L. (opening the parcel, and finding a toy-watch of the value of one farthing sterling). 'Ere, I'll give yer this back—'tain't no good to me!
The Y. M. (with concern). I'm reelly very sorry, Sir, I've given you a wrong 'un by mistake. I quite fancied as——Allow me to apologise, and, as a proof I 'aven't lost your good opinion, give me a penny for this one.
[He selects a packet with great care from the heap.
The A. L. You don't take me in no moor—I'd sooner make ye a present o' the penny!
The Y. M. (wounded). Don't talk like that, Sir—you'll be sorry for it afterwards! (In a whisper.) It's all right this time, s'elp me!
The A. L. I know as it's a kitch o' some sort ... —hows'ever, jest this once. (He purchases another packet, and is rewarded by an eyeglass, constructed of cardboard and coloured gelatine, which he flings into the circle in a fury.) 'Tis nobbut a darned swindle—and I've done wi' ye! Ye're all a pack o' rogues together!
[Exit, amidst laughter from the rest, whose confidence, however, has been rewarded by very similar results.
The Y. M. He don't know what he's lost by givin' way to his narsty temper—but there, I forgive 'im! (He begins to replace the remaining parcels in the chest; one packet escapes his notice, and is instantly pounced upon by a sharp, but penniless urchin.) Now, Gentlemen, I'm 'ere reppersentin' two Charitable Institootions—the Blind Asylum, and the Idjut Orfins—but I'm bloomin' sorry to say that, this time, arter I've deducted my little trifling commission, there'll be a bloomin' little to 'and over to either o' them deservin' Sercieties; so, thenkin' you all, and wishin' you bloomin' good luck, and 'appiness and prosperity through life, I'll say good-bye to yer.
The Sharp Urchin (after retiring to a safe distance with his booty.) Theer's summat inside of 'un—I can 'ear un a-rartlin' ... 'ow many moor wrops! 'Tis money, fur sartin!... (Removes the last wrapping.) Nawthen but a silly owld cough-drop! (He calls after the Young Man, who is retreating with Mr. Fairplay, and his spotty friend.) I've a blamed good mind to 'ave th' Lar on ye fur that, I hev—a chatin' foaks i' sech a way! Why don't ye act honest?
[Is left masticating the cough-lozenge in speechless indignation.