Good gracious, what a boy! No, Cis, your mother is merely going to sit by Lady Jenkins' bedside, to hold her hand, and to tell her where one goes to--to buy pocket-handkerchiefs. CIS. By Jove! The mater can't be home again till half-past twelve or one o'clock. MR. POSKET. Much later if Lady Jenkins' condition is alarming. CIS. Hurray! [_He takes the watch out of MR. POSKET'S pocket._] Just half-past ten. Greenwich mean, eh, Guv? [_He puts the watch to his ear, pulling MR. POSKET towards him by the chain._ MR. POSKET. What an extraordinary lad! CIS. [_Returning watch._] Thanks. They have to get from here to Campden Hill and back again. I'll tell Wyke to get them the worst horse on the rank. MR. POSKET. My dear child! CIS. Three-quarters of an hour's journey from here at least. Twice three-quarters, one hour and a half. An hour with Lady Jenkins--when women get together, you know, Guv, they do talk--that's two hours and a half. Good. Guv, will you come with me? MR. POSKET. Go with you! Where? CIS. Hotel des Princes, Meek Street. A sharp hansom does it in ten minutes. MR. POSKET. Meek Street, Hotel des Princes! Child, do you know what you're talking about? CIS. Rather. Look here, Guv, honour bright--no blab if I show you a letter. MR. POSKET. I won't promise anything. CIS. You won't! Do you know, Guv, you are doing a very unwise thing to check the confidence of a lad like me? MR. POSKET. Cis, my boy! CIS. Can you calculate the inestimable benefit it is to a youngster to have some one always at his elbow, some one older, wiser, and better off than himself? MR. POSKET. Of course, Cis, of course, I _want_ you to make a companion of me. CIS. Then how the deuce can I do that if you won't come with me to Meek Street? MR. POSKET. Yes, but deceiving your mother! CIS. _Deceiving_ the mater would be to tell her a crammer--a thing, I hope, we're both of us much above. MR. POSKET. Good boy, good boy. CIS. _Concealing_ the fact that we're going to have a bit of supper at the Hotel des Princes, is doing my mother a great kindness, because it would upset her considerably to know of the circumstances. You've been wrong, Guv, but we won't say anything more about that. Read the letter. [_Gives MR. POSKET the letter._ MR. POSKET. [_Reading in a dazed sort of a way._] "Hotel des Princes, Meek Street, W. Dear Sir,--Unless you drop in and settle your arrears, I really cannot keep your room for you any longer. Yours obediently, Achille Blond. Cecil Farringdon, Esq." Good heavens! You have a room at the Hotel das Princes! CIS. A room! It's little better than a coop. MR. POSKET. You don't occupy it? CIS. But my friends do. When I was at Brighton I was in with the best set--hope I always shall be. I left Brighton--nice hole I was in. You see, Guv, I didn't want my friends to make free with your house. MR. POSKET. Oh, didn't you? CIS.