The E. G. (sleepily). Shtupid thing a-do, but qui' forgot.... Come out 'ithout mi' name, 'shmornin'!
Pol. (sternly). That won't do with Me, you know. What's your name? Out with it!
The E. G. (evidently making a wild shot at it). Fergushon.
[Smiles, as if he feels sure the Policeman will be pleased with a name like that.
Pol. John? George? James?—or what?
The E. G. You can purr 'em all down t' me—it don' marrer!
Pol. (briskly). Where do you live, Mr. Ferguson?
The E. G. (mechanically). Shirty-one, Lushington Street, Gargleshbury Park.
Pol. (writing it down, and giving leaf to Cabman). There, will that do for you?
Cabman. That's all I want. (To the E. G.) You'll 'ear from me later on.