[_Runs to the house-door, and stands listening, with her hand on the key_.] END OF ACT I. ACT II. SCENE.--_A street in Mayfair_. MRS. CLIFFORD'S _house. A pastrycook's shop. Boys looking in at the window_. _Bill._ I say, Jim, ain't it a lot o' grub? If I wos a pig now,-- _Jack._ I likes to hear Bill a supposin' of hisself. Go it, Bill!--There ain't nothink _he_ can't suppose hisself, Jim.--Bein' as you ain't a pig. Bill, you've got yer own trotters, an' yer own tater-trap. _Bill._ Vereupon blue Bobby eccosts me with the remark, "I wants you, Bill;" and seein' me too parerlyzed to bolt, he pops me in that 'ere jug vithout e'er a handle. _Jack._ Mother kep' a pig once. _Jim._ What was he like, Jack? _Jack._ As like any other pig as ever he could look; accep' that where other pigs is black he wor white, an' where other pigs is white he wor black. _Jim._ Did you have the milk in your tea, Jack? _Jack._ Pigs ain't got no milk, Jim, you stupe! _Bill._ Pigs _has_ milk, Jack, only they don't give it to coves.--I wish I wos the Lord Mayor! _Jack._ Go it again, Bill. He ought ha' been a beak, Bill ought. What 'ud you do, Bill, supposin' as how you wos the Lord Mayor? _Bill._ I'd take all the beaks, an' all the peelers, an' put their own bracelets on 'em, an' feed 'em once a day on scraps o' wittles to bring out the hunger: a cove can't be hungry upon nuffin at all. _Jim._ He gets what mother calls the squeamishes. _Jack._ Well, Bill? _Bill._ Well, the worry moment their bellies was as long an' as loose as a o'-clo'-bag of a winter's mornin', I'd bring 'em all up to this 'ere winder, five or six at a time--with the darbies on, mind ye-- _Jim._ And I'm to be there to see, Bill--ain't I? _Bill._ If you're good, Jim, an' don't forget yer prayers. _Jack._ My eye! it's as good as a penny gaff! Go it, Bill. _Bill._ Then I up an' addresses 'em: "My Lords an' Gen'lemen, 'cos as how ye're all good boys, an' goes to church, an' don't eat _too_ many wittles, an' don't take off your bracelets when you goes to bed, you shall obswerve me eat." _Jim._ Go it, Bill! I likes you, Bill. _Bill._ No, Jim; I must close. The imagination is a 'ungry gift, as the cock said when he bolted the pebbles. Let's sojourn the meetin'. _Jack_. Yes; come along. 'Tain't a comfable corner this yere: the wind cuts round uncommon sharp. Them pies ain't good--leastways not to look at. _Bill_. They ain't disgestible. But look ye here, Jack and Jim--hearkee, my kids. (_Puts an arm round the neck of each, and whispers first to one and then to the other_.) _Enter_ MATTIE _and_ SUSAN. _Sus_. Now, Mattie, we're close to the house, an' I don't want to be seen with you, for she's mad at _me_. _Mat_. You must have made her mad, then, Sue.