Music Halls.

MRS. FARRELL. Theres no music halls nowadays: theyre Variety
Theatres. Shes got an offer of marriage from a young jook.

MITCHENER. Is it possible? What did you do?

MRS. FARRELL. I told his mother on him.

MITCHENER. Oh! what did she say?

MRS. FARRELL. She was as pleased as Punch. Thank Heaven, she
says, hes got somebody thatll be able to keep him when the
supertax is put up to twenty shillings in the pound.

MITCHENER. But your daughter herself? What did she say?

MRS. FARRELL. Accepted him, of course. What else would a young
fool like her do? He inthrojooced her to the Poet Laureate,
thinking shed inspire him.

MITCHENER. Did she?

MRS. FARRELL. Faith I dunna. All I know is she walked up to him
as bold as brass n said "Write me a sketch, dear." Afther all
the trouble I took with that chills manners shes no more notion
how to behave herself than a pig. Youll have to wear General
Sandstones uniform: its the ony one in the place, because he wont
lend it to the shows.