The Novosti and other St. Petersburg papers favour the notion of an Anglo-Russian entente cordiale. We shall have to adapt our conversation to our new friends.
As thus:—
SCENE The Strand. Enter R. and L. two quondam Cockneys.
Why, there's young Wotatoff!... I hardly knew you, little pigeon, in that fur shuba!
Zzzdrrravstv—I mean, be in good health, Gospodin Dropowisky, how do you live on?
What do I live on? Why, vodka mostly, now that we've all turned Muscovites. But where are you going, Ivan Ivanovitch?
I'm off to call on the Punchski Redaktor, at 10, Bouverieskaya Ulitsa.
Why, so am I! let's hire a droshki.
Khoroshó—excuse my sneezing!... Hi, izvostchik, drive us to the Punchskoye Bureau. What's the fare? two roubles? oh, nonsense! you shall have fifty kopeks, and ten more for tea-money!
What an improvement those bells are, tinkling in the duga over the horse's neck!
Yes, but Bozhe moi! that was a near shave with that runaway troika, down Wellington Street! How lucky it is the politsiya wear swords now to stop the traffic with....