Rum the sights these 'ere
savidges make o' theirselves, ain't it, BILL?
_Batt. Bill_ (_more thoughtfully_). Yer right--but I dessay if you and
me 'ad been born among that lot, _we_ shouldn't care _'ow_ we looked!
_Vauxhall Voilet_ (_who has exchanged headgear with CHELSEA
CHORLEY--with dismal results_). They _are_ cures those blackies! Why,
yer carn't 'ardly tell the men from the wimmin! I expect this lot'll
be 'aving a beanfeast. See, they're plyin' their myusic.
_Chelsea Chorley_. Good job we can't _'ear_ 'em. They say as niggers'
music is somethink downright horful. Give us "_Hi-tiddly-hi_" on that
mouth-orgin o' yours, will yer?
[_VAUXHALL VOILET obliges on that instrument; everyone in
the neighbourhood begins to jig mechanically; exeunt party,
dancing._
_A Pimply Youth_. "Hopium-eater from Java." That's the stuff they gits
as stoopid as biled howls on--it's about time we went and did another
beer. [_They retire for that purpose._
DURING THE FIREWORKS.
_Chorus of Spectators_. There's another lot o' bloomin' rockets gowin
orf! Oo-oo, 'ynt that lur-uvly? What a lark if the sticks come down
on somebody's 'ed! There, didyer see 'em bust? Puts me in mind of a
shower o' foiry smuts. Lor, so they do--what a fancy you _do_ 'ave,
&c.
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