_A large hall in Eton College_—_A staircase at the end_—_Eton lads_, _dressed in their Montem Dresses in the Scene_—_In front_, WHEELER (_dressed as Captain_), BURSAL _and_ FINSBURY. _Fins._ I give you infinite credit, Mr. Wheeler, for this dress. _Burs._ _Infinite credit_! Why, he’ll have no objection to that—hey, Wheeler? But I thought Finsbury knew you too well to give you credit for anything. _Fins._ You are pleased to be pleasant, sir. Mr. Wheeler knows, in that sense of the word, it is out of my power to give him credit, and I’m sure he would not ask it. _Wheel._ (_aside_). O, Bursal, pay him, and I’ll pay you to-morrow. _Burs._ Now, if you weren’t to be captain after all, Wheeler, what a pretty figure you’d cut. Ha! ha! ha!—Hey? _Wheel._ Oh, I am as sure of being captain as of being alive. (_Aside_.) Do pay for me, now, there’s a good, dear fellow, before _they_ (_looking back_) come up. _Burs._ (_aside_). I love to make him lick the dust. (_Aloud_.) Hollo! here’s Finsbury waiting to be paid, lads. (_To the lads who are in the back scene_.) Who has paid, and who has not paid, I say? (_The lads come forward, and several exclaim at once_,) I’ve paid! I’ve paid! _Enter_ LORD JOHN _and_ RORY O’RYAN. _Rory_. Oh, King of Fashion, how fine we are! Why, now, to look at ye all one might fancy one’s self at the playhouse at once, or at a fancy ball in dear little Dublin. Come, strike up a dance. _Burs._ Pshaw! Wherever you come, Rory O’Ryan, no one else can be heard. Who has paid, and who has not paid, I say? _Several Boys exclaim_. We’ve all paid. 1_st_ _Boy_. I’ve not paid, but here’s my money. _Several Boys_. We have not paid, but here’s our money. 6_th_ _Boy_. Order there, I am marshal. All that have paid march off to the staircase, and take your seats there, one by one. March! (_As they march by_, _one by one_, _so as to display their dresses_, _Mr. Finsbury bows_, _and says_,) A thousand thanks, gentlemen. Thank you, gentlemen. Thanks, gentlemen. The finest sight ever I saw out of Lon’on. _Rory_, _as each lad passes_, _catches his arm_, Are you a Talbot_ite_ or a Wheeler_ite_? _To each who answers_ “A Wheelerite,” _Rory replies_, “Phoo! dance off, then. Go to the devil and shake yourself.” {167} Each who answers “A Talbotite,” _Rory shakes by the hand violently_, _singing_, “Talbot, oh, Talbot’s the dog for Rory.” _When they have almost all passed_, _Lord John says_, _But where can Mr. Talbot be all this time_? _Burs._ Who knows? Who cares? _Wheel._ A pretty electioneerer! (Aside to Bursal.) Finsbury’s waiting to be paid. _Lord J._ You don’t wait for me, Mr. Finsbury. You know, I have settled with you. _Fins._ Yes, my lord—yes. Many thanks: and I have left your lordship’s dress here, and everybody’s dress, I believe, as bespoke.