minoot portions of the glorss git between the jaws of the microbe, preventin’ ‘im from closin’ ‘is mouth, and thereby enablin’ you to suffocate ’im with the four ale. (To the Reader.) Will you allow me to show you how this little invention takes a photograph, Sir? kindly ’old it in your ’and, breathe on it, and look steadily on the plate for the space of a few seconds. (All of which the Reader, being the soul of courtesy, obligingly does—­and is immediately rewarded by observing the outline of a donkey’s head produced upon the glass.) Now if you’ll ’and that round, Sir, to allow the company to judge whether it ain’t a correct likeness—­
         [But here the Reader will probably prefer to pass on.

Third S.C. (who is crouching on ground by a tin case, half covered with a rug, and yelling).  Ow-ow-ow-ow!...  Come an’ see the wonderful little popsy-wopsy Marmoseet, what kin tork five lengwidges, walk round, shake ’ands, tell yer ’is buthday, ’is percise age, and where he was keptured!

[Crowd collects to inspect this zoological phenomenon, which—­as soon as an inconvenient Constable is out of hearing—­reveals itself as an illicit lottery.  Speculators purchase numbered tickets freely; balls are shaken up in the tin box—­and the popsy-wopsy invariably gets distinctly the best of it.

[Illustration:  “I’m ole Billy Fairplay, I am!”]

Fourth S.C. (an extremely disreputable-looking old gentleman, with a cunningly curled piece of tape on a board), ’Ere, I’m ole BILLY FAIRPLAY, I am!  Come an’ try yer fortins at little ‘Ide an’ Find!  Arf a crown yer don’t prick the middle o’ this bit o’ tape.  Bet arf a crown, to win five shillin’s! (A school-boy sees his way to doubling his last tip, and speculates.) Wrong agin, my boy!  It’s old BILLY FAIRPLAY’S luck—­for once in a way! [The School-boy departs, saddened by this most unexpected result.

Fifth S.C. (a fat, fair man, with an impudent frog-face, who is trying desperately hard to take in a sceptical crowd with the too familiar purse-trick).  Now look ‘ere, I don’t mind tellin’ yer all, fair an’ frank, I’m ’ere to get a bit, if I can; but, if you kin ketch me on my merits, why, I shan’t grumble—­I’ll promise yer that much!  Well, now—­(to a stolid and respectable young Clerk)—­jest to show you don’t know me, and I don’t know you—­(he throws three half-crowns into the purse).  There, ’old that for me.  Shut it. (The Clerk does so, grinning.) Thank you—­you’re a gentleman, though you mayn’t look like it—­but perhaps you’re one in disguise. Now gimme ’arf a crown for it.  Yer won’t? Any one gimme arf a crown for it?  Why—­(unprintable language)—­if ever I see sech a blanky lot o’ mugs in my life!  ’Ere, I’ll try yer once more! (He does.) Now