“My nerves are worth nothin’ before midday. Why, lookin’ down there, and seem’ those folks like dots, puts me all in a twitter. My family is all alike in the mornin’.” “I expect,” said Dolly, a high-coloured young woman, “that they’re all alike the evening before.” There was a general laugh, which was led by the comedian. “You got it across that time, Dolly. It’s K.O. for Battling Billy--still senseless when last heard of. If my family is laughed at I’ll leave the room.” “It’s about time we did,” said the commercial traveller, who was a red-faced, choleric person. “It’s a disgrace the way they hold us up. I’ll write to the company.” “Where’s the bell-push?” said Billy. “I’m goin’ to ring.” “What for--the waiter?” asked the lady. “For the conductor, the chauffeur, whoever it is that drives the old bus up and down. Have they run out of petrol, or broke the mainspring, or what?” “We have a fine view, anyhow,” said the Commander. “Well, I’ve had that,” remarked Billy. “I’m done with it, and I’m for getting on.” “I’m getting nervous,” cried the stout mother. “I do hope there is nothing wrong with the lift.” “I say, hold on to the slack of my coat, Dolly. I’m going to look over and chance it. Oh, Lord, it makes me sick and giddy! There’s a horse down under, and it ain’t bigger than a mouse. I don’t see any one lookin’ after us. Where’s old Isaiah the prophet who came up with us?” “He shinned out of it mighty quick when he thought trouble was coming.” “Look here,” said Dolly, looking very perturbed, “this is a nice thing, I don’t think. Here we are five hundred foot up, and stuck for the day as like as not. I’m due for the _matinée_ at the Hippodrome. I’m sorry for the company if they don’t get me down in time for that. I’m billed all over the town for a new song.” “A new one! What’s that, Dolly?” “A real pot o’ ginger, I tell you. It’s called ‘On the Road to Ascot.’ I’ve got a hat four foot across to sing it in.” “Come on, Dolly, let’s have a rehearsal while we wait.” “No, no; the young lady here wouldn’t understand.” “I’d be very glad to hear it,” cried Mary MacLean. “Please don’t let me prevent you.” “The words were written to the hat. I couldn’t sing the verses without the hat. But there’s a nailin’ good chorus to it: “‘If you want a little mascot When you’re on the way to Ascot, Try the lady with the cartwheel hat.’” She had a tuneful voice and a sense of rhythm which set every one nodding. “Try it now all together,” she cried; and the strange little haphazard company sang it with all their lungs. “I say,” said Billy, “that ought to wake somebody up. What? Let’s try a shout all together.” It was a fine effort, but there was no response. It was clear that the management down below was quite ignorant or impotent. No sound came back to them.