Her Friend. Oh, that's nothing; next year they're going to have a horse who'll dance the Highland Fling.
The Socialist. A pretty sight? Cost a pretty sight o' the People's money, I know that. Tomfoolery, that's what it is; a set of dressed-up bullies dancin' quadrilles on 'orseback; that ain't military manoeuvrin'. It's sickenin' the way fools applaud such goins on. And cuttin off the Saracen's 'ed, too; I'd call it plucky if the Saracen 'ad a gun in his 'and. Bah, I ate the ole business!
His Neighbour. Got anybody along with you, Mate?
The Socialist. No, I don't want anybody along with me, I don't.
His Neighbour. That's a pity, that is. A sweet-tempered, pleasant-spoken party like you are oughtn't to go about by yourself. You ought to bring somebody just to enjoy your conversation. There don't seem to be anybody 'ere of your way of thinkin'.
DURING THE COMBINED DISPLAY.
The Gushing Lady (as the Cyclist Corps enter). Oh, they've got a dog with them. Do look—such a dear! See, they've tied a letter round his neck. He'll come back with an answer presently. (But, there being apparently no answer to this communication, the faithful but prudent animal does not re-appear.)
AFTER THE PERFORMANCE.
The Inquisitive Child. Uncle, which side won?
Uncle. I suppose the side that advanced across the bridges.