He became very indignant when Accrington caught him by the collar, and, in his subsequent struggles to escape, his dress coat was ripped up astern from top to bottom and part of his braces gave way. The functionary who had chased him demanded his immediate expulsion, but when Reggie explained that he belonged to our box he retired peacefully after accepting a gin-cocktail that had grown upon the floor by some mysterious means. As the door closed upon the officer, the voice of Fatty was heard from underneath a pile of coats in the corner. ‘I don’t know what is happening,’ he remarked plaintively, ‘but if somebody will fetch me an Angostura and ginger-beer and pay for it, I shall be quite happy for half-an-hour.’ ‘Don’t be an ass,’ said Freddy, who was steadying himself by a clothes peg, ‘who is to fetch you anything; besides, if they did, do you suppose they’d get it here in safety?’ ‘Yes,’ put in Blandford, ‘the person in pink plush with white extremities lost seven drinks off his tray on the way to the next box just now.’ Here a lady, whose only known name was Girlie, and who had been dumped down in the box by some member of our party who had completely forgotten her, demanded a sherry and bitters. ‘Who’s that?’ remarked Freddy unsteadily, as he let go one hat peg and caught another after two vain efforts. ‘Whashedoinere?’ ‘Can’t imagine,’ replied Fatty; and then Freddy having incautiously lost his grip on his sole means of support and fallen against the bell, the conversation was terminated by the appearance of the waiter. ‘This lady,’ said Accrington to the waiter, ‘wants to stand us drinks all round.’ Girlie then rose and commenced a protest which was more forcible than polite; but Accrington waved her aside with a regal gesture. ‘I daresay you didn’t mean to say so m’dear,’ he added, ‘but there are somanyqueerpeopleretnight.’ After the offended Girlie had left the box, Fatty was just proceeding to order the terrible mixture dear to his heart, when Freddy addressed the waiter as ‘Puddle darling,’ and enquired if he was going to Hardtopp-on-Sands for the mixed bathing. The waiter’s reply was to slam the door from the outside, and Fatty’s ginger-beered Angostura vanished into the dim and distant future. At this moment the last turn concluded, and the orchestra gave tongue to the National Anthem, which was caught up vigorously in all parts of the house.