_Two English House-maids_ (_to a small German Page-Boy who is escorting them_). Here, JOHNNIE, what's _this_ mean? (_Reads from Catalogue the motto on an Executioner's Sword._) "Di Herrin' sturin dem Unheel ick exequire ir End Urthile." Come, _you_ ought to know! _Johnnie_ (_not unnaturally at a loss_). It means--it means--somding I do not understandt. _The Housemaids_ (_disappointed in him_). Well, you _are_ a boy! I _did_ think, bein' German yourself, you'd be quite at _'ome_ 'ere! _Mr. Ernest Stodgely_ (_impressively, to Miss FEATHERHEAD, his fiancée_). Just look at this, FLOSSIE. (_Reading._) "Executioner's Cloak, very long, of red woollen material; presumably red so as not to show blood-spots or stains." Hideously suggestive that, is it not? _Miss Flossie._ I shouldn't call it exactly _hideous_, ERNEST. Do you know, I was just thinking that, with a high Astrachan collar, you know, and old silver fastenings, it would make rather a nice winter cloak. So deliciously warm! [_ERNEST avails himself of a lover's privileges to lecture her severely._ IN FRONT OF THE IRON MAIDEN. _Mr. Ch. Goole._ So _this_ is the Iron Maiden! Well, I expected something rather more dreadful-looking. The face has really quite a pleasant expression. [_Disappointedly._ [Illustration: "Oh, but I think that makes it so much _more_ horrible, don't you?"] _Mrs. Ch. G._ (_with subtler appreciation_). Oh, but I think that makes it so much _more_ horrible, don't _you_? _Mr. Ch. G._ Well, I don't know--perhaps. But there ought to be a wax figure inside it. They ought to have wax figures on most of these things--make it much more interesting! _Mr. Frivell_ (_who is close by_). I quite agree with you, Sir--indeed, I would go farther. I think there should be competent persons engaged to provide practical illustrations of all the more amusing tortures--say from three to five every afternoon. Draw all London! _Mrs. F._ (_horrified_). FRED, you _know_ you don't mean it! And besides, you would _never_ get people willing to be shut up inside that thing! _Mr. F._ My dear, I'm perfectly serious, as I always am. And as to not getting subjects, why--(_He beckons to one of the Boy-Messengers in waiting, who advances_). Look here, my lad, you seem a bright intelligent youth. Would you mind just stepping inside and allowing us to close the door? We won't detain you an instant. _Mrs. F._ What a shame, FRED! Don't _think_ of such a thing, there's a good boy! Say no--and I'll give you sixpence! _The Boy_ (_grinning_). Well, Lady, make it a shillin', and I'll stay outside--to oblige you! _Mrs. F._ (_giving him a shilling_). There's a good sensible boy! FREDERIC, have you gone _quite_ mad? You know you wouldn't hurt a fly? [_The GOOLES move away, feeling that they have been trifled with._