"Then send for Mrs. Jarley on the spot! And she'll reproduce each feature that you've got. All your business she will see to, Black your boots, and make your tea, too, If you'll only put a penny in the slot!" The tune was good, and the chorus went with a swing. But now a difficulty arose. The second verse should have been sung by one of the late occupants of the back bench--Dorando, to be precise; and Mrs. Jarley, realizing the circumstance, was on the point of beginning it herself, when a muffled voice, proceeding apparently from the infernal regions, struck into the opening lines. Dorando, faint yet pursuing, was evidently determined to fulfil his contract, even if he had to do it on his head. For various reasons (chiefly dust and incipient apoplexy), his articulation was not all that could be desired, and the verse, which told of the ingenious device of one Tommy Sparkes, who, faced by the prospect of corporal punishment, "Sent for Mrs. Jarley on the spot, And explained that he was going to get it hot"-- whereupon that resourceful lady "Made a figure, small and ruddy, To be Tommy's understudy; And the figure got--what Tommy should have got!" was lost upon the audience. But every one took up the chorus with a will, and the third verse entered upon its career under the happiest auspices. On this occasion the lines were distributed among the figures themselves. "Now Mrs. Bumble-Doodle gave a ball"-- began Queen Elizabeth; "But twenty-seven men all wired to say"-- continued Peter Pan; "That they very much regretted, after all"-- carolled Sunny Jim; "To find they simply _couldn't_ get away!"-- bellowed a voice (Oliver Cromwell's) from under the platform. "Said Mrs. Bumble-Doodle, in despair"-- resumed Master Jarley, after a yell of laughter had subsided; "The ball will be a failure--not a doubt of it!" announced a Pierrette, with finality. "The girls won't find a single partner there"-- wailed a waxwork in a kilt (possibly Rob Roy or Harry Lauder)-- There was a break. The piano paused expectantly, and all the waxworks turned their heads (most unprofessionally) to see what had happened to Cherry Ripe, whose turn it was to sing the next verse. Apparently that lady had permitted her attention to wander, for she was scrutinising the audience, to the neglect of her cue. The sudden silence--or possibly the attentions of Master Jarley, who bustled up and assiduously oiled her mouth and ears--seemed to recall her errant wits. "Sorry!" she remarked calmly, and sang in a clear voice,-- "Oh, what a mess! How are we to get out of it?" "She sent for Mrs. Jarley on the spot!" declaimed that lady triumphantly, --"And the girls were quite content with what they got. True, a dummy cannot flirt; But he does not tear your skirt, Or say that he can dance when he can not!" "Now, then, _all_ together!"