L.P. (with cheery candour).  Well, no Sir, not quite.  Oh, I’ll not deceive you!  It has been in use a few months, and, as you see, is none the worse for that.  Better, if anything, being fully tested as to seasoning.  I need ’ardly tell you, Sir, that new furniture nowadays is a ticklish thing to invest in. Such tricks, my dear Sir, such nefarious dodges and artful fakements! (Sighs.) But—­(taking up a chair and banging it vigorously but adroitly on the floor)—­this is stuff you can depend on, and ’ll be better three years hence than it is to-day.  This saddle-bag sweet, Madam, is simply luxurious, good enough for any doocal dinin’-room; the carpets throughout are as elegantly hesthetick in design, as they are substantial in fabric, whilst the—­ahem! sleeping apartments, are perfect pickters of combined solidity and chaste elegance. I always say, that as a real gentleman is known by his linen, so the ’ome of a party of true taste may be tested by the bed-rooms.  You’ll excuse me, Madam—­(smirks)—­but such are my sentiments, not as a salesman, but as a family man.

[L.P. takes EDWIN and ANGELINA the round of the house, expatiating glowingly but discreetly as he goes, and ultimately effects sale of the “furniture as it stands” for a liberally proffered “ten-pun note off the advertised sum tottle."

  SCENE III.—­Interior of Greengage Villa.  ANGELINA (now
    Mrs. CANOODLE) discovered in tears over the wreck of a
    “Saddlebag” Sofa, very shaky as to legs, and shabby as to
    “pile."

Angelina (sobbing).  And to think that dear EDWIN should have spent his long savings on such wretched stuff as this!  Oh, that talkative but treacherous tout at Vamp Villa!  Why, ’tis only six months since we were married—­(bohoo!)—­and there’s scarcely a thing in the house that’s not either shaky, or shabby, or both!

    [Breaks down.

Edwin (entering with a flushed face, and clenched fists).  ANGY, my darling, don’t waste your tears over that vile combination of unseasoned timber and devil’s-dust.  Rather pluck up a spirit and pitch into me, who was fool enough to be tricked by a plausible advertisement, a scheming vendor of shoddy furniture, a hired villa, a verbose villain, and the thrice-told tale of a mythical “Indian gentleman,” an imaginary “emergency,” and a purely supposititious “sacrifice.” [Left lamenting.

* * * * *

“A DANIEL!”

[Illustration:  G.O.M.  DANIEL in the Irish Lions’ Den.]