Podb. Is that our expenses you’re corking down there, CULCHARD, eh?

Culch. (with dignity).  If you want to know, I am “corking down,” to adopt your elegant expression, a sonnet that suggested itself to me.

Podb. Much better cork that up, old chap—­hadn’t he, Miss TROTTER?

    [He glances at her for appreciation.

Miss T. That’s so.  I don’t believe the poetic spirit has much chance of slopping over so long as Mr. PODBURY is around.  You have considerable merit as a stopper, Mr. PODBURY.

Podb. I see; I’d better clear out till the poetry has all gurgled out of him, eh?  Is that the idea?

Miss T. If it is, it’s your own, so I guess it’s a pretty good one.

    [PODBURY shoulders off.

Culch. (with his pathetic stop on).  I wish I had more of your divine patience!  Poor fellow, he is not without his good points; but I do find him a thorn in my flesh occasionally, I’m afraid.

Miss T. Well, I don’t know as a thorn in the flesh is any the pleasanter for having a good point.

Culch. Profoundly true, indeed.  I often think I could like him better if there were less in him to like.  I assure you he tries me so at times that I could almost wish I was back at work in my department at Somerset House!

Miss T. I daresay you have pretty good times there, too.  Isn’t that one of your leading dry goods stores?

Culch. (pained).  It is not; it is a Government Office, and I am in the Pigeonhole and Docket Department, with important duties to discharge.  I hope you didn’t imagine I sold ribbons and calico over a counter?

Miss T. (ambiguously).  Well, I wasn’t just sure.  It takes a pretty bright man to do that where I come from.

An Old Lady (who is sitting next to PODBURY, and reading a home-letter to another Old Lady).  “Dear MARIA and dear MADELINE are close by, they have taken very comfortable lodgings in Marine Crescent.  Dear MADELINE’s frame is expected down next Saturday.”

Second Old Lady.  MADELINE’s frame!  Is anything wrong with the poor girl’s spine?

First Old Lady.  I never heard of it.  Oh, I see, it’s fiance, my dear.  CAROLINE does write so illegibly. (Continuing.) “Um—­um,—­suppose you know she will be maimed—­” (perhaps it is her spine after all—­oh, married, to be sure), “very slowly” (is it slowly or shortly, I wonder?), um—­um, “very quiet wedding, nobody but dear Mr. WILKINSON and his hatter.”

Second O.L. The idea of choosing one’s hatter for one’s best man!  I’m surprised MARIA should allow it!