_Mr. Woodby-Inn._ That's no good; no point in ridin' after the right time. (_To himself, as he turns away._) Nuisance! Not that I'm so keen about a moke. Not a patch on a bike!--though it don't do to say so. Only if I'd known this, I'd have turned up in a tall hat and frock coat; and then I could have taken a turn on the steam-circus. Wonder if it would be any sort of form shyin' at cocoa-nuts in tweeds and a straw hat. Must ask some chap who knows. More puzzlin' what to put on this year than ever! _Lady Ranela Hurlingham_ (_breathlessly to_ Donkey Proprietor). That's mine, isn't it? Will you please put me up, and _promise_ me you'll keep close behind and make him run. (_Suppliantly._) You will, _won't_ you? _The Donkey Proprietor_ (_with a due sense of his own value_). Well, I dessay I can come along presently, Lady 'URLINGHAM, and fetch 'im a whack or two; jest now I can't, having engaged to come and 'old the Marshiness of 'AMMERCLOTH'S on _'er_ moke; but there, you orter be able to git along well enough by yourself now--_you_ ought! _Captain Sonbyrne_ (_just home on leave from India--to_ Mrs. CHESHAM-LOWNDES). Rather an odd sort of idea this--I mean, coming all the way out here to ride a lot of donkeys, eh? _Mrs. Chesham-Lowndes._ It used to be rather amusing a month ago, before they all got used to riding so near the tail; but now they're all so good at it, don't you know. _Capt. Sonb._ I went down to Battersea Park yesterday to see the bicyclists. Not a soul there, give you my word! _Mrs. C.-L._ No; there _wouldn't_ be _this_ season. You see, all sorts and conditions of people began to take it up, and it got too fearfully common. And now moke-riding has quite cut it out. _Capt. Sonb._ But why ride donkeys when you can get gees? _Mrs. C.-L._ Oh, well, they're democratic, and cheap, and all that, don't you know. And one really can't be _seen_ on a horse this year--in town, at least. In the country it don't matter so much. _First Mokestrian_ (_to second ditto_). Hullo, old chap, so _you_'ve taken to a moke at last, eh? How are you gettin' on? _Second Mokestrian._ Pretty well. I can sit on his tail all right now, but I can't get into the way of keepin' my heels off the ground yet, it's so beastly difficult. _Fragments from Spectators._ That's rather a smart barrow, Lady BARINRAYNE'S drivin' to-day.... Who's the fellow with her, with the paper feather in his pot-hat? Bad style, _I_ call it.... That's Lord FREDDY FUGLEMAN--best dressed man in London. You'll see everybody turnin' up in a paper feather in a day or two.... Lot of men seem to be using a short clay as a cigarette-holder now, don't they?... Yes, RODDIE RIPPINGILL introduced the idea last week, and it seems to have caught on. [_&c., &c._] AFTER LUNCHEON; AT THE STEAM-CIRCUS, AND OTHER SPORTS.