your reference,
    And if I finds it satisfact’ry, Mum,
    Why, s’elp me, I ’ave arf a mind to come.
  Third Lady.  My last good lady left six months ago
    Because she said I’d singed the souffle so;
    She gave me no address to write to—­
  Super-Char.  What! 
    You’ve got no reference?
  Third Lady.  Alas, I’ve not!
  Super-Char.  Of course I could not dream of taking you
    Without one, so there’s nothing more to do. 
    These women—­’ow they spoil one’s temper!  Pah! 
    Hi! (she hails a passing taxi) Drive me to the nearest cinema.
                  [She steps into the taxi and is whirled off.

Chorus of Ladies.

Not yet the consolation
Of manicure and cream;
Not yet the barber dresses
Our dusty tousled tresses;
The thought of titivation
Is still a distant dream;
Not yet the consolation
Of manicure and cream.

Still, still, with vim and vigour,
’Tis ours to scour and scrub;
With rag and metal polish
The dirt we must demolish;
Still, still, with toil-bowed figure,
Among the grates we grub;
Still, still, with vim and vigour,
’Tis ours to scour and scrub.

CURTAIN.

* * * * *

A TALE OF A COINCIDENCE.

“Coincidences,” said the ordinary seaman, “are rum things.  Now I can tell you of a rum un that happened to me.”

It said Royal Naval Reserve round his cap, but he looked as if he ought to be wearing gold earrings and a gaudy handkerchief.

“When I was a young feller I made a voyage or two in an old hooker called the Pearl of Asia.  Her old man at that time was old Captain Gillson, him that had the gold tooth an’ the swell ma’ogany fist in place o’ the one that got blowed off by a rocket in Falmouth Roads.  Well, I was walkin’ out with a young woman at Liverpool—­nice young thing—­an’ she give me a ring to keep to remember ’er by, the day before we sailed.  Nice thing it was; it had ‘Mizpah’ wrote on it.

“We ’ad two or three fellers in the crowd for’ard that voyage as would ’andle anything as wasn’t too ’ot or too ’eavy which explains why I got into a ‘abit of slippin’ my bits o’ vallybles, such as joolery, into a bit of a cache I found all nice and ‘andy in the planking’ back o’ my bunk.

“We ’ad a long passage of it ’ome, a ’undred-and-sixty days from Portland, Oregon, to London River, an’ what with thinkin’ of the thumpin’ lump o’ pay I’d have to draw an’ one thing an’ another, I clean forgot all about the ring I’d left cached in the little place back o’ my bunk yonder.

“Well, I drew my pay all right, and after a bit I tramped it to Liverpool, to look out for another ship.  An’ the first person I met in Liverpool was the young woman I ’ad the ring of.

“‘Where’s my ring?’ she says, before I’d time to look round.