_Footm._ (_pathetically_). Mr. REDBEAK, Sir, you'll excuse me, but I'm on'y one man 'ere, I ain't a 'undred. _Don't_ thank 'eaven for it, Sir, it's 'ard when a man as tries to do his best, and with all my responsibilities on him---- _Mr. Redb._ (_impatiently_). Oh, cheese it; you're not on a stool in 'Ide Park, are you? I'm only _tellin'_ you. [Illustration: "It's like singing to a lot of 'ap'ny ices!"] _Miss L._ (_on stage, singing chorus_). Say, boys, say, if you'd like to come. Who's for a merry old "Tiddley-um?" Fall in behind, and we'll all get "blind," before they close the pub! You're not jays, so you won't refuse. Join our band, for we're on the booze, And you'll see some larks with the rollicking sparks of the Rowdy Razzle Club! (_Here she capers off, brandishing a gibus, and has a difficulty in opening the practicable door in the wing._ _To_ Footman.) There you are _again!_ How often am I to tell you to keep that wood open for my dance off? I break my fingers over it every blessed night, and lose my encore as well! _Footm._ I'm exceedingly sorry, miss, but the fact of the matter is my attention was took off at the time owing to---- _Miss L._ Oh, hold _your_ jaw, do. _Footm._ (_to himself_). I'm to hold my jaw! Oh, these hartistes, they lead me a dorg's life among 'em! _Mr. Redb._ (_touching_ Miss L.'s _coat as she passes_). What's that badge you're wearing? Salvation Army, Temperance, Primrose League, or what? _Miss L._ No, only the colours of the Balls Pond Football Team; they presented them to me the other day. I told them _I_ didn't play football. _Mr. Redb._ You're pretty fair at the 'igh kick though, ain't you? There, there. 'Alf time. Goin' on again? _Miss L._ With a cold like mine? Not likely. Just look at my tongue! (_She protrudes the tip of an indigo-coloured tongue for his inspection._) _Mr. Redb._ (_concerned_). Why, it's like one o' those Chow-chow dogs, I'm blest if it isn't! You _are_ off colour to-night, no mistake! _Miss L._ Oh, that's the remedy, not the disease--liquorice, you know. _Stage-M._ Now, ALF, if you're in such a hurry, go on. Cut it as short as you like--no extra turns to-night. _Mr. Redb._ No fear. Oh dear, oh dear, such a rush as it is! [_He goes on grumbling._ _A Small Boy_ (_who has been sitting patiently on a chair by the wing--to_ Stage-Manager). If you please, Sir, will Mr. WILDFIRE want me to-night? _Miss L._ Want you, indeed, you silly kid! What would Mr. WILDFIRE want a shrimp like you for? _The Boy._ If he's going to do the Sandwich Man 'ere to-night, he'll want me, _I_ know. Why, it all _depends_ on me, that song does. (_To_ Stage-M.) _Is_ he going to do the Sandwich Man to-night, Sir? _Stage-M._ Oh, don't bother me; wait till he comes and you'll find out. (_To_ Miss L.) I suppose you've heard he's talking of not renewing his engagement after to-night--giving up the halls altogether!