_Before a large mechanical clock, representing a fortress, which is striking. Trumpets sound, detachments of wooden soldiers march in and out of gateways, and parade the battlements, clicking for a considerable time._ A SPECTATOR (_with a keen sense of the fitness of things_). What--all that for on'y 'alf past five! OVERHEARD IN THE AMBULANCE DEPARTMENT. SPECTATORS (_passing in front of groups of models arranged in realistic surroundings_). All the faces screwed up to suffering, you see!... What a nice patient expression that officer on the stretcher has! Yes, they've given _him_ a wax head--some of them are only _papier-mâché_.... Pity they couldn't get nearer their right size in 'elmets, though, ain't it?... There's _one_ chap's given up the ghost!... I know that stuffed elephant--he comes from the Indian Jungle at the Colinderies!... I _do_ think it's a pity they couldn't get something more _like_ a mule than this wooden thing! Why, it's quite _flat_, and its ears are only leather, nailed on!... You can't tell, my dear; it may be a peculiar breed out there--cross between a towel-horse and a donkey-engine, don't you know! IN THE INDIAN JUNGLE SHOOTING-GALLERY. _At the back, amidst tropical scenery, an endless procession of remarkably undeceptive rabbits of painted tin are running rapidly up and down an inclined plane. Birds jerk painfully through the air above, and tin rats, boars, tigers, lions, and ducks, all of the same size, glide swiftly along grooves in the middle distance. In front, Commissionnaires are busy loading rifles for keen sportsmen, who keep up a lively but somewhat ineffective fusillade._ 'ARRIET (_to_ 'ARRY). They 'ave got it up beautiful, I must say. Do you _get_ anything for 'itting them? 'ARRY. On'y the honour. A FATHER (_to intelligent_ SMALL BOY _in rear of_ NERVOUS SPORTSMAN). No, I ain't seen him 'it anything _yet_, my son; but you watch. That's a rabbit he's aiming at now.... Ah, _missed_ him! SMALL BOY. 'Ow d'yer _know_ what the gentleman's a-aiming at, eh, Father? FATHER. 'Ow? Why, you notice which way he points his gun. [_The N. S. fires again--without results._ SMALL BOY. I sor that time, Father. He was a-aiming at one o' them ducks, an' he missed a rabbit! [_The N. S. gives it up in disgust._ [Illustration: "GO IN, JIM! YOU GOT YER MARKIN'-PAPER READY ANYHOW."] _Enter a small party of 'Arries in high spirits._ FIRST 'ARRY. 'Ullo! _I_'m on to this. 'Ere Guv'nor', 'and us a gun. _I_'ll show yer 'ow to shoot! [_He takes up his position, in happy unconsciousness that playful companions have decorated his coat-collar behind with a long piece of white paper._ SECOND 'ARRY. Go in, Jim! You got yer markin'-paper ready anyhow. [_Delighted guffaws from the other_ 'ARRIES, _in which_ JIM _joins vaguely_. THIRD 'ARRY. I'll lay you can't knock a rabbit down! JIM. I'll lay I can!