_Alf_. P'raps you think I can't. But, if _I_ was to go upon the 'Alls now, I should make my fortune in no time! Loo's 'eard me when I've been in form, and she'll tell you-- _Miss Serge_. Well, I will say there's many a professional might learn a lesson from ALF--whether Mr. PERKINS believes it or not. [_Cuttingly, to "CHOH-LEY."_ _Chorley_. Now reelly, Miss Loo, don't come down on a feller like that. I want to see him do you credit, that's all, and he couldn't 'ave a better opportunity to distinguish himself--now _could_ he? _Miss Serge_. _I'm_ not preventing him. But I don't know--these niggers keep themselves very select, and they might object to it. _Alf_. I'll soon square _them_. You keep your eye on me, and I'll make things a bit livelier! [_He enters the Circle._ _Miss Serge_ (_admiringly_). He _has_ got a cheek, I must say! Look at him, dancing there along with those two Niggers--they don't hardly know what to make of him yet! _Chorley_. Do you notice how they keep kicking him beyind on the sly like? I wonder he puts up with it! _Miss S._ He'll be even with them presently--you see if he isn't. [ALF _attempts to twirl a tambourine on his finger, and lets it fall; derision from audience_; Bones _pats him on the head, and takes the tambourine away--at which_ ALF _only smiles feebly._ _Chorley._ It's a pity he gets so 'ot dancing, and he don't seem to keep in step with the others. _Miss S._ (_secretly disappointed_). He isn't used to doing the double-shuffle on sand, that's all. _The Conductor_. Bones, I observe we have a recent addition to our Company. Perhaps he'll favour us with a solo. (_Aside to Bones._) 'Oo is he? 'Oo let him in 'ere--_you_? _Bones_. _I_ dunno. I thought _you_ did. Ain't he stood nothing? _Conductor_. Not a brass farden! _Bones_ (_outraged_). All right, you leave him to me. (_To ALF._) Kin it be? That necktie! them familiar coat-buttons! that paper-dicky! You are--you _are_ my long-lost Convick Son, 'ome from Portland! Come to these legs! (_He embraces ALF, and smothers him with kisses._) Oh, you've been and rubbed off some of your cheek on my complexion--you _dirty_ boy! (_He playfully "bashes" ALF's hat in._) Now show the comp'ny how pretty you can sing. (_ALF attempts a Music-hall ditty, in which he, not unnaturally, breaks down._) It ain't my son's fault, Ladies and Gentlemen, it's all this little gal in front here, lookin' at him and makin' him shy! (_To a small Child, severely._) You oughter know _worse_, you ought! (_Clumps of sea-weed and paper-balls are thrown at ALF, who by this time is looking deplorably warm and foolish._) Oh, what a popilar fav'rite he is to be sure! _Charley_ (_to Miss S._). Poor fellow, he ain't no match 'for those Niggers--not like he is now! Hadn't I better go to the rescue, Miss Loo? _Miss S._ (_pettishly_). I'm sure I don't care _what_ you do. [_"CHORLEY" succeeds, after some persuasion, in removing the unfortunate ALF._