_Mr. T. (rising, and shaking C.'s hands with effusion)._ My _dear_ CHARLES; how can I thank you? If you _knew_ what a load you've taken off my mind! Then the Company _isn't_ bankrupt--it's paying seventy per cent.! Why, I needn't mind telling your Aunt. (_With restored complacency._) Of course, my boy, I have never occupied myself with City matters--but, none the less, I believe I can trust my natural shrewdness--I had a sort of instinct, CHARLES, from the first, that that mine was perfectly sound. I knew I could trust LARKINS. _Charles._ _You_, Uncle! Then it was _you_ who was your friend all the time? Oh, you're really _too_ rich, you know! _Mr. T._ I have never desired it; but it will certainly be a very useful addition to our--ah--modest income, CHARLES. But you should check yourself, my boy, in this--ah--immoderate laughter. There is nothing that I can see to cause such mirth in the fact of your Uncle's having made a fortunate investment in a gold-mine. _Charles (as soon as he can speak)._ But it _ain't_ a mine, Uncle, it--it's the music-hall! Give you my word it is. If you don't believe me, look at the address on the warrant, and you'll see it's the same as on this programme. You're a shareholder in the Eldorado Palace of Varieties, Piccadilly! _Mr. T. (falling back)._ No, CHARLES! I--I acquired them in the most perfect innocence! [Illustration: "If I were you, I wouldn't mention this to Aunt."] _Charles._ Innocence! I'd back you for that against an entire Infant School, Uncle. But I say, I must be off now. If I were you, I _wouldn't_ mention this to Aunt. And look here. I'd better leave you this. (_He hands him the Eldorado programme._) It's more in your line than mine now. [_He goes out, and is heard chuckling in the hall and down to the front gate._ _Mr. T. (alone)._ That ribald, unfeeling boy! _What_ a Sunday I've had! And how am I ever to tell CORNELIA now? (_A bell rings._) That's to call the servants up to prayers. (_He stuffs the programme into his pocket hastily, and rises._) No, I can't. I _can't_ conduct family prayers with the knowledge that I'm a shareholder in--in a Palace of Varieties! I shall slip quietly off to bed. _Ph[oe]be (entering)._ Missus wished me to tell you she was only waiting for you, Sir. _Mr. T._ PH[OE]BE, tell your mistress I'm feeling poorly again, and have gone to bed. (_To himself._) If I could only be sure I don't talk in my sleep! [_He shuffles upstairs._ END OF SCENE III. * * * * * A (FREQUENTLY) RISING M.P.--Mr. T. G. BOWLES is quite "a new boy" in the House, yet has he none of the diffidence of most other new boys. His continuous questions and his easy oratory will win for him the styles and titles of "The Flowing BOWLES" and "The Sparkling BOWLES." If _Mr. P._ adopts him as a frequent and favourite subject for an object lesson, such as were SIBTHORPE and some others in past times, he may attain the very highest position as "BOWLES of _Punch_."