_Sarah_. AL-BERT! 'ENERY! Your father's bin down 'ere once after you.
You'll _ketch_ it!

_Albert_ (_sotto voce_). Not till Father ketches _us_, we shan't. Keep
still, 'ENERY--we're all right under 'ere!

_Sarah_ (_more diplomatically_). 'ENERY! ALBERT! Father's bin and left
a 'ap'ny apiece for yer. Ain't yer comin' up for it? If yer don't want
it, why, stay where you are, that's all!

_Albert_ (_to 'Enery_). I _knoo_ we 'adn't done nothin'. An' I'm goin'
up to git that ap'ny, I am.

_'Enery_. So'm I. [_They emerge, and ascend the steps--to be pounced
upon immediately by the ingenious SARAH._

_Sarah_. 'Ap'ny, indeed! You won't git no 'apence _'ere, I_ can tell
yer--so jest you come along 'ome with me!

[Illustration: "Come to these legs!"]

[_Exeunt ALBERT and 'ENERY, in captivity, as the Niggers
enter the circle._

_Bones._ We shall commence this afternoon by 'olding our Grand Annual
Weekly Singing Competition, for the Discouragement of Youthful Talent.
Now then, which is the little gal to step out first and git a medal?
(_The Children giggle, but remain seated._) Not one? Now I arsk
_you_--What _is_ the use o' me comin' 'ere, throwin' away thousands
and thousands of pounds on golden medals, if you won't take the