_Peacock_. It's the _young_ 'orse, Sir.

_Mr. F._ (_sinking back_). We must put up with it, I suppose.

[_A smart crack is heard at the back of the carriage._

_More Voices_. Now, then, why the blanky dash, &c., &c.

_Mrs. F._ MARMADUKE, I can't sit here, and know that a bus-pole may
come between us at any moment. Let us get out, and take a cab home at
once.

_Mr. F._ There's only one objection to that suggestion--viz., that
it's perfectly impossible to tell a cab from a piano-organ. We must
find out where we are first, and then turn. PEACOCK, drive on as well
as you can, and stop when you come to a shop.

_Mrs. F._ What do you want to stop at a shop for?

_Mr. F._ Why, then I can go in, and ask where we _are_.

_Mrs. F._ And how do you expect _them_ to know where we are! (_She
sees a smear of light in the distance._) MARMADUKE, there's a linkman.
Get out quick, and hire him to lead the way.

_Mr. F._ (_who gets out, and follows in the direction of the light,
grumbling to himself_). Hallo!--not past the Park yet--here's the
railings! Well, if I keep close to them, I shall--(_He suddenly
collides with a bench._) Phew! Oh, confound it! (_He rubs his shins._)