themselves at an adjoining table_.

_Miss Trotter_. Well, I guess it's gayer out here, anyway. That
Reading Saloon is just about as lively as a burying lot with all the
tombs unlet. I want the address of that man who said that Brussels was
a second Parrus.

_Mr. Trotter_. Maybe we ain't been long enough off the cars to
jedge yet. Do you feel like putting on your hat and sack, and sorter
smellin' round this capital?

_Miss T._ Not any. I expect the old city will have to curb its
impatience to see me till to-morrow. I'm tired some.

_Culch._ (_to himself_). Confound it, how can I--! (_Looks up, and
observes_ Miss T. _with a sudden attention_). That fellow PODBURY
has better taste than I gave him credit for. She _is_ pretty--in her
peculiar style--_quite_ pretty! Pity she speaks with that deplorable
accent.

[_Writes--"Vermilion lips that sheathe a parrot tongue," and
runs over all the possible rhymes to "tongue."_

_Podb._ (_observing that his pencil is idle_). Gas cut off again? Come
for a toddle. You don't mean to stick here all the evening, eh?

_Culch._ Well, we might take a turn later on, and see the effect of
St. Gudule in the moonlight.

_Podb._ Something _like_ a rollick that! But what do you say to