The Unprotected (suddenly awaking to a sense of her desolation). Oh!—where?
Cheery Porter. Anyvheres, ma'am; only let me ketch a hold. Now, Jem.
[Her luggage is appropriated by the united efforts of two Porters, who are bearing it off.
Unprotected Female (vaguely following and clutching at the load.) Oh!—but where to? You never can—it's to 38, Great Coram Street—and there's bottles in the bag,—by the name of Jones. Oh—please—couldn't you—
Cheery Porter. All right, 'M. You'll p'raps get a trap outside. This way, Ma'am—it's all right.
Scene changes to exterior of Station. Here the full extent of the Metropolitan calamity is apparent. Amidst the stranded packages of the day's arrivals, are seen heaped together the exhausted Passengers sitting, lying, or standing about, among, and upon them, like shipwrecked sailors amidst the débris of a lee-shore. Crowds of Cabmen, in various stages of intoxication, are gathered together, triumphing in the desolation they have made. A miscellaneous collection of vehicles of all descriptions is vainly endeavouring to supply the place of Cabs, and an impression is being slowly made on the piles of luggage. The Conveyances include most things on wheels—from a costermonger's truck with the smallest of donkeys, to a battered old Sheriff's carriage drawn by two large cart-horses. Chaff abounds, as might be expected.
Cabman in Box Coat (To Indignant Gentleman, who with much dignity has just deposited his luggage in a costermonger's cart, after reiterated threats of legal vengeance on the Company.) Ollo! Guv'nor—ow's greens?
[Indignant Gent retorts by a withering look, but wisely abstains from a reply.
Cabman (in fustian jacket and ditto). Here's your hout-an-hout accommodation—Sixpence a mile—ho!
Cabman in velveteen (pointing to a wheelbarrow, to which is consigned the luggage of a despairing mother, including three babies). Hall alive, oh! alive, oh! Pen—ny—win—kles—hall alive, oh!