_A White-capped Attendant_ (_taking advantage of a pause,
plaintively_). Sengwidges, too-pence!

_Voluble Lady in the Shilling Stalls_ (_telling her Male Companion an
interminable story with an evasive point_). No, but you 'ear what
I'm going to _tell_ you, because I'm coming to it presently. I can't
remember his name at this moment--something like BUDKIN, but it wasn't
that, somewhere near Bond Street, he is, or a street off there; a
Scotchman, but _that_ doesn't matter! (_Here she breaks off to hum
the Chorus of "Good Ole Mother-in-Law!" which is being sung on the
stage._) Well, let me see--what was I telling you? Wait a minute,
excuse _me_, oh, yes,--_well_, there was this picture,--mind you, it's
a lovely _painting_, but the frame simply nothing, not that I go by
frames, myself, o' course not, but I fetched it down to show him--oh,
I know what you'll say, but he must know _something_ about such
things; he knew my uncle, and I can tell you what he _is_--he's a
florist, and married nineteen years, and his wife's forty--years
older than me, but I've scarcely spoke to _her_, and no children, so
I fetched it to show him, and as soon as he set eyes on it,
he says--(_Female "Character-Comic" on Stage, lugubriously_.
"Ritolderiddle, ol de _ray_, ritolderiddle, olde-_ri-ido_!") I can't
tell you _how_ old it is, but 'undreds of years, and Chinese, I
shouldn't wonder, but we can't trace its 'istry--that's what _he_
said, and if _he_ don't know, _nobody_ does, for it stands to reason
he must be a judge, though nothing to me,--when I say nothing, I mean
all I know of him is that he used to be--(_Tenor Vocalist on Stage_.
"My Sweetheart when a Bo-oy!") I always like that song, don't you?
Well, and this is what I was _wanting_ to tell you, _she_ got to know
what I'd done--how is more'n _I_ can tell you, but she did, and she