Oh, I say, mater, this is a frightful sell for a fellow. AGATHA POSKET. Go to your room, sir. CIS. I always thought there was something wrong with me. Blessed if I'm not behind the age! [_CIS goes out._ AGATHA POSKET. Forgive me, Æneas. Look at my bonnet! A night in Mulberry Street, without even a powder-puff, is an awful expiation. MR. POSKET. Agatha! How do I know Cis won't be five-and twenty to-morrow? AGATHA POSKET. No--no--you know the worst, and as long as I live, I'll never deceive you again--except in little things. _LUKYN and VALE enter._ LUKYN. [_Boiling with rage._] By George, Posket! MR. POSKET. My dear Lukyn! LUKYN. Do you know I am a confounded jail-bird, sir? MR. POSKET. An accident! LUKYN. And do you know what has happened to me in jail--a soldier, sir--an officer? MR. POSKET. No! LUKYN. I have been washed by the authorities. MR. POSKET. Lukyn, no! _CHARLOTTE has entered, and she rushes across to VALE._ CHARLOTTE. Horace! Horace! Not you, too? VALE. By Jove, Charlotte, I would have died first. _MR. BULLAMY enters quickly._ MR. BULLAMY. Mr. Posket, I shall choke, sir! Inspector Messiter is downstairs and says that Isidore, the waiter, swears that you are the man who escaped from Meek Street last night. LUKYN. What? MR. BULLAMY. This is a public scandal, sir! LUKYN. Your game is up, sir! MR. BULLAMY. You have brought a stain upon a spotless police court! LUKYN. And lectured me upon propriety and decorum. MR. POSKET. Gentlemen, gentlemen, when you have heard my story you will pity me. LUKYN AND MR. BULLAMY. [_Laughing ironically._] Ha! ha! MR. POSKET. You will find your old friend a Man, a Martyr, and a Magistrate! _CIS enters, pulling BEATIE after him._ CIS. Come on, Beatie! Guv--mater! here's news! Beatie and I have made up our minds to be married. AGATHA POSKET. Oh! _POPHAM enters with champagne and glasses._ MR. POSKET. What's this? CIS. Bellinger--'74--extra dry--to drink our health and happiness. CHARLOTTE. Champagne! It may save my life! AGATHA POSKET. Miss Tomlinson, go home! MR. POSKET. Stop! Cis Farringdon, my dear boy, you are but nineteen at present, but you were only fourteen yesterday, so you are a growing lad; on the day you marry and start for Canada, I will give you a thousand pounds! POPHAM. [_Putting her apron to her eyes._] Oh! CIS. [_Embracing BEATIE._] Hurrah! We'll be married directly. AGATHA POSKET. He's an infant! I forbid it! MR. POSKET. I am his legal guardian. Gentlemen, bear witness! I solemnly consent to that little wretch's marriage! [_AGATHA POSKET sinks into a chair._ THE END. Printed by Ballantyne & Company Ltd Tavistock Street Covent Garden London Transcriber's Note This transcription is based on scanned images of two different copies posted by the Internet Archive. The primary source is posted at: archive.org/details/magistratefarcei00pinerich