o! Here we are
again! All change for Oxford Circus!

SMYTHE.

[_A bulky, sleepy-looking man with grey hair, a darker moustache and
beard, and a heavy, rolling gait._] Ha, Lal!

ROPER.

I'm just going to have a word with Lil Parradell.

[_He disappears and SMYTHE advances._

COOLING.

[_Approaching SMYTHE._] How are you to-night, Chief?

SMYTHE.

[_A silk hat on the back of his head, an overcoat on his arm--
regarding the preparations with disgust._] Puh! Here's a muck and a
muddle!

COOLING.

Don't worry; we'll clear it away in no time. Shall I tell you who are
coming?

SMYTHE.

No; I shall know soon enough. What was the house to-night?

COOLING.

[_Producing a long slip of paper and handing it to SMYTHE._] Big.
[_SMYTHE scans the paper through half-closed lids and gives a growl of
contentment._] Haw! And the weather dead against us.

SMYTHE.

[_Screwing up the paper, and cramming it into his waistcoat-pocket._]
There's no bad weather for a good play. [_Looking at his hands._] I'll
go and have a wash and brush up. [_LUIGI returns, entering at the door
on the left, and goes behind the counter. The waiters follow him,
carrying some melons lying upon ice in plated dishes. They deposit the
dishes upon the counter and LUIGI proceeds to cut the melon into
slices. COOLING resumes, at a table on the left, the placing of the
cards. As SMYTHE is moving towards the right-hand door at the back,
STEWART HENEAGE and GERALD GRIMWOOD-- two exquisitely dressed youths
with blank faces-- enter from the landing. SMYTHE shakes hands with
them._] Ha, Mr. Heneage! Ha, Mr. Grimwood! [_HENEAGE and GRIMWOOD
murmur some polite expressions._] Excuse me; I'm just going to wash my
hands. [_DE CASTRO enters, also at the double-door, and SMYTHE shakes
hands with him. HENEAGE and GRIMWOOD drift over to COOLING, who hails
them warmly._] How do, Sam! Back in a moment; just going to wash my
hands.

DE CASTRO.

[_Detaining him._] I thay, Carlton.

SMYTHE.

Eh?

DE CASTRO.

[_Lowering his voice._] I've been in front again to-night.
Magnifithent! Marvellouth!

SMYTHE.

[_Resignedly._] It'll do; I shall get a couple o' years out of it.

DE CASTRO.

There'th jutht _one_ little improvement I'd like to thee, if I may
thuggetht it.

SMYTHE.

What's that?

DE CASTRO.

[_Linking his arm in SMYTHE'S._] You're thure you won't conthider me
prethumptuouth?

SMYTHE.

Of course not; very kind of yer.

DE CASTRO.