A Cab-array.
The Elderly Gentleman (smiling sweetly, and balancing himself on his heels against some railings). I'm shure I dunno.
Cabman. Well, look, can't yer? don't keep me 'ere all day—feel in yer pockets, come!
[The Old Gentleman makes an abortive effort to find a pocket about him somewhere, and then relapses into abstraction.
Crowd. Let 'im take 'is time, he'll pay yer right enough, if you let the man alone.
A Woman. Ah, pore gentleman, the best of us is took like that sometimes!
[Murmurs of sympathy.
Cabman. I don't want no more than what's my own. 'E's rode in my keb, and I want my fare out of 'im—an' I mean 'aving it, too!
[Here the Old Gentleman, who seems bored by the discussion, abruptly serpentines off again and is immediately overtaken and surrounded.