"I beg ten thousand pardons, madam, but the fact is I am not accustomed to travelling on an omnibus, and I'm afraid----" "Fares, please." The conductor came along cutting the apologies short. "Your fare if you please, sir." "What is the fare?" "Arf a crown." This was Jimmy's friend. "Where are you going?" This was the conductor. I explained. "We want a pennyworth." I turned to Stacey-Lumpton. "I have no coppers. Have you got twopence?" He produced a sovereign purse. "Have you change for a sovereign?" This to the conductor, and the conductor was contemptuous. "Change for a sovereign! I haven't got change for no sovereign, unless you like to take it all in coppers." "Take change for a sovereign in coppers? What do you suppose I should do with a sovereign's worth of coppers?" "I don't know nothing at all about it. I've got to do with 'em, haven't I? Twopence, please!" Jimmy's friend interposed. "You 'and me over the sovering. I'll change it. I got sevenpence-'apenny," Jimmy chorussed. "And I dessay I could make it up to a bob, and then we'll take our two 'ats out of it, and then we'll give yer wot's left next time we sees yer--eh, 'Enery?" The driver, turning his head, nodded to his colleague. "That's all right, Tom. You give the gentlemen their tickets. I'll see you get your twopence. The gentlemen can owe it me." He gave his whip an artistic twirl. "I've known myself what it's like to have a sovereign and no change to be had--ah, and more than a sovereign, though you mightn't think it to see me here." Not feeling inclined to be indebted to an omnibus driver for the loan of twopence, I suddenly discovered that I had two coppers. The conductor retired. There was an interval of silence--spent, I imagine, by Stacey-Lumpton in endeavouring to smooth his ruffled plumage. Presently Jimmy's friend began again: "I say, Jimmy, how about our fourpences?" "That's what I say. Guv'nor, 'ow about our fourpences? I ain't seen no fourpence." I tendered Stacey-Lumpton a word of advice. "If you are wise you will give them nothing." "I don't intend to." "Oh, you don't, don't you? Well, that's 'andsome! Now, supposing I bash in your 'at?" All at once he made a fresh discovery. "If 'e ain't smashed the blooming box!" He picked up from beside him the box which Stacey-Lumpton had kicked against. "Smashed it right in--straight, 'e 'as! Well, there's a thing to do!" He thrust the box in question between Stacey-Lumpton and myself. "Look 'ere there's bloaters in that box." We did not need his word to make us conscious of that fact. The perfume was enough. Stacey-Lumpton recognised that this was so with, on his face, an expression of speechless horror. "You've busted in the box and spiled the lot of 'em. Who's going to buy bruised bloaters, I'd like to know? I don't mind my 'at so much, but when it comes to bloaters--they're my living." An interposition from the lady whose bonnet had been "scrunched."