The Watteau Shepherdess (with delicate disdain).  ’Ere, you go along, you silly ass!

    [Hits him with her crook.

A Gentleman who has obviously supped (catching hold of a passing Acquaintance, whose hand he wrings affectionately).  Dear ole HUGHIE! don’t go away just yet.  Shtop an’ talk with me.  Got lotsh er things say to you, dear ole boy—­mosh ’portant things!  Shure you, you’re the on’y man in the wide world I ever kicked a care—­cared a kick about.  Don’t you leave me, HUGHIE!

[Illustration:  “Exit unsteadily towards Bar.”]

Hughie (who is looking for his partner).  Not now, old man—­can’t stop.  See you later!

    [He makes his escape.

The Affect.  G. (confidentially—­to a Policeman).  Thash a very dear ole pal o’ mine, plishman, a very dear ole pal.  Worsht of him ish—­shimply imposhble get a lit’ rational conversation with him.  No sheriousness in his character!

    [Exit unsteadily towards Bar, in blissful unconsciousness
    that somebody has attached a large false nose and spectacles
    to the buttons of his coat-tails.

A Troubadour (jealously—­to an Arleguina).  No—­but look here, you might just as well say right put which costume you like best—­mine or—­(indicating a Cavalier on her other side)—­his.

Arleguina (cautiously—­not desiring to offend either).  Well, I’d rather be him—­not as a man, I wouldn’t—­but, as myself, I’d like to be this one.

    [Both appear equally satisfied and soothed by this
    diplomatic, but slightly mystic response.

A Vivandiere (to a Martyr, who is shuffling along inside a property-trunk, covered with twigs, and supposed to represent a Bird in the Hand).  Well, that’s one way of coming out to enjoy yourself, I suppose!

A Middle-aged Man (wandering behind the Orchestra).  It’s beastly dull, that’s what it is—­none of the give-and-take humour and practical fun you get in Paris or Vienna!...  That’s a nice, simple-looking little thing in the seat over there. (The simple-looking little thing peeps at him, with one eye over her fan, in arch invitation.) Gad, I’ll go up and talk to her—­it will be something to do, at any rate—­she looks as if she wouldn’t mind. (He goes up.) Think I know your face—­haven’t we met before?

The Simple Little Thing (after an elaborate wink aside at a Fireman).  Shouldn’t wonder.  Don’t you run away yet.  Sit down and talk to me—­do now.  No, not that side—­try the arm-chair, it’s more comfortable.

The M.M. (throwing himself gracefully into a well-padded chintz chair).  Well, really—­(The chair suddenly digs him in the ribs with one of its elbows).  Eh, look here now—­’pon my—­(He attempts to rise, and finds himself tightly pinioned by the arms of the chair.) There’s some confounded fool inside this chair!