_The Judge_. Here, you on the black horse, you mustn't hit that other horse about the head. (_The man addressed appears rebuked and surprised under his black-wired visor; The Judge, reassuringly_.) It's all _right_, you know; only, don't do it again, that's all! (_The Combatant sits up again._) _The Gushing Lady_. Oh, I can't bear to look on, really. I'm _sure_ they oughtn't to hit so hard--_how_ their poor dear heads must ache! Isn't that chestnut a _duck_? I'm sure he's trying to save his master from getting hurt--they're such sensible creatures, horses are! (_Artillery teams drive in, and gallop between the posts; the Crowd going frantic with delight when the posts remain upright, and roaring with laughter when one is knocked over_.) DURING THE MUSICAL RIDE. _The Gushing Lady_. Oh, they're simply too _sweet_! how those horses are enjoying it--aren't they pets? and how perfectly they keep step to the music, don't they? _Her Friend_ (_who is beginning to get a trifle tired by her enthusiasm_). Yes; but then they're all trained by Madame KATTI LANNER, of Drury Lane, you see. _The G.L._ What pains she must have taken with them; but you can teach a horse _anything_, can't you? _Her Friend_. Oh, that's nothing; next year they're going to have a horse who'll dance the Highland Fling. _The Socialist_. A pretty sight? Cost a pretty sight o' the People's money, I know that. Tomfoolery, that's what it is; a set of dressed-up bullies dancin' quadrilles on 'orseback; _that_ ain't military manoeuvrin'. It's sickenin' the way fools applaud such goins on. And cuttin off the Saracen's 'ed, too; I'd call it plucky if the Saracen 'ad a gun in his 'and. Bah, I ate the ole business! _His Neighbour_. Got anybody along with you, Mate? _The Socialist_. No, I don't want anybody along with _me_, I don't. _His Neighbour_. That's a pity, that is. A sweet-tempered, pleasant-spoken party like you are oughtn't to go about by yourself. You ought to bring somebody just to enjoy your conversation. There don't seem to be anybody '_ere_ of your way of thinkin'. DURING THE COMBINED DISPLAY. _The Gushing Lady_ (_as the Cyclist Corps enter_). Oh, they've got a _dog_ with them. Do look--such a dear! See, they've tied a letter round his neck. He'll come back with an answer presently. (_But, there being apparently no answer to this communication, the faithful but prudent animal does not re-appear_.) AFTER THE PERFORMANCE. _The Inquisitive Child_. Uncle, which side won? _Uncle_. I suppose the side that advanced across the bridges. _Child_. Which side _would_ have won if it had been a _real_ battle? _Uncle_. I really couldn't undertake to say, my boy. _Child_. But which do you _think_ would have won? _Uncle_. I suppose the side that fought best. _Child_. But which side was _that_? (_The Uncle begins to find that the society of an intelligent Nephew entails too severe a mental strain to be frequently cultivated._) * * * * *