Mrs. M. He will go, Mr. BUDKIN!  He’s gone up every night the ’Ipnotiser’s been here, and says he feels it’s going to do him good.  So this evening I said I’d come in too, and judge for myself.  What good he expects to get, laying there like a damp dishclout, I don’t know!

[Meanwhile the Hypnotist has borrowed a silver-handled umbrella from the audience, and thrust it before the faces of one or two loutish-looking youths, who immediately begin to squint horribly and follow the silver-top with their noses, till they knock their heads together.

Mr. Budkin (to Mrs. MIDGELLY).  He’s going to give your husband a turn of it now.

[The umbrella-handle is applied to Mr. M., a feeble-looking little man with a sandy top-knot; he grovels after the silver-top when it is depressed, and makes futile attempts to clamber up the umbrella after it when it is held aloft.

Mrs. M. (severely).  I haven’t patience to look at him.  A Kitten ’ud have had more sense!

The Hyp. (calling up one of the heavy youths).  Can you whistle, Sir?  Yes?  Then whistle something. (The Youth whistles a popular air in a lugubrious tone.) Now you can’t whistle—­try. (The Youth tries—­and produces nothing but a close imitation of an air-cushion that is being unscrewed.) Now, if I were not to wake him up, this young gentleman’s friends would never enjoy the benefit of his whistle again!

Voice from a Back Row. Don’t wake him, Guv’nor, we can bear it!

Hyp. (after restoring the lost talent, and calling up another Youth, somewhat smartly attired).  Now, Sir, what do you drink?

The Youth (with a sleepy candour).  Beer when I can get ’old of it.

A Friend of his in Audience.  JIM’s ’aving a lark with him—­he said as ’ow he meant to kid him like—­he ain’t ’ipnotised, bless yer!

Hyp. But you like water, too, don’t you? (JIM admits this—­in moderation.) Try this. (He gives him a tumbler of water.) Is that good water?

Jim (smacking his lips).  That’s good water enough, Sir.

Hyp. It’s bad water—­taste it again.

    [JIM tastes, and ejects it with every symptom of extreme
    disapproval.

Jim’s Friend.  Try him with a drop o’ Scotch in it—­’e’ll get it down!

Hyp. (to JIM).  There is no water in that glass—­it’s full of sovereigns, don’t you see? (JIM agrees that this is so, and testifies to his conviction by promptly emptying the contents of the glass into his trousers’ pocket) What have you got in your pocket?

Jim (chuckling with satisfaction).  Quids—­golden sovereigns!

Hyp. Wake up! Now what do you find in your pocket—­any sovereigns?