burst from Mr. Pole. "No wonder these young sparks
cut us all out. Lord, what cunning dogs they are! They ain't satisfied
with seeing themselves in their boots, but they--ha! ha! By George!
We've got the best fun in our box. I say, Braintop! you ought to have
two, my boy. Then you'd see how you looked behind. Ha-ha-hah! Never
enjoyed an evening so much in my life! A looking-glass for their
pockets! ha! ha!--hooh!"

Luckily the farce demanded laughter, or those parts of the pit which had
not known Braintop would have been indignant. Mr. Pole became more
and more possessed by the fun, as the contrast of Braintop's abject
humiliation with this glaring testimony to his conceit tickled him.
He laughed till he complained of hunger. Emilia, though she thought
it natural that Braintop should carry a pocket-mirror if he pleased,
laughed from sympathy; until Braintop, reduced to the verge of
forbearance, stood up and remarked that, to perform the mission
entrusted to him, he must depart immediately. Mr. Pole was loth to let
him go, but finally commending him to a good supper, he sighed, and
declared himself a new man.

"Oh! what a jolly laugh! The very thing I wanted! It's worth hundreds to
me. I was queer before: no doubt about that!"

Again the ebbing convulsion of laughter seized him. "I feel as clear as
day," he said; and immediately asked Emilia whether she thought he
would have strength to get down to the cab. She took his hand, trying to
assist him from the seat. He rose, and staggered an instant. "A sort of
reddish cloud," he murmured, feeling over his forehead. "Ha! I know what
it is. I want a chop. A chop and a song. But, I couldn't take you, and
I like you by me. Good little woman!" He patted Emilia's shoulder,
preparatory to leaning on it with considerable weight, and so descended
to the cab, chuckling ever and anon at the reminiscence of Braintop.

There was a disturbance in the street. A man with a foreign accent was
shouting by the door of a neighbouring public-house, that he would not
yield his hold of the collar of a struggling gentleman, till the villain
had surrendered his child, whom he scandalously concealed from her
parents. A scuffle ensued, and the foreign voice was heard again:

"Wat! wat you have de shame, you have de pluck, ah! to tell me you know
not where she is, and you bring me a letter? Ho!--you have de cheeks to
tell me!"

This highly effective pluralizing of their peculiar slang, brought a