HER FRIEND. Oh, that's nothing; next year they're going to have a horse who'll dance the Highland Fling. THE SOCIALIST. A pretty sight? Cost a pretty sight o' the People's money, I know that. Tomfoolery, that's what it is; a set of dressed-up bullies dancin' quadrilles on 'orseback; _that_ ain't military manoeuvrin'. It's sickenin' the way fools applaud such goin's on. And cuttin' off the Saracen's 'ed, too; I'd call it plucky if the Saracen 'ad a gun in his 'and. Bah, I 'ate the 'ole business! HIS NEIGHBOUR. Got anybody along with you, Mate? THE SOCIALIST. No, I don't want anybody along with _me_, I don't. HIS NEIGHBOUR. That's a pity, that is. A sweet-tempered, pleasant-spoken party like you are oughtn't to go about by yourself. You ought to bring somebody just to enjoy your conversation. There don't seem to be anybody _'ere_ of your way of thinkin'. DURING THE COMBINED DISPLAY. THE GUSHING LADY (_as the Cyclist Corps enter_). Oh, they've got a _dog_ with them. Do look--such a dear! See, they've tied a letter round his neck. He'll come back with an answer presently. (_But, there being apparently no answer to this communication, the faithful but prudent animal does not re-appear._) AFTER THE PERFORMANCE. THE INQUISITIVE CHILD. Uncle, which side won? UNCLE. I suppose the side that advanced across the bridges. CHILD. Which side _would_ have won if it had been a _real_ battle? UNCLE. I really couldn't undertake to say, my boy. CHILD. But which do you _think_ would have won? UNCLE. I suppose the side that fought best. CHILD. But which side was _that_? (_The_ Uncle _begins to find that the society of an intelligent Nephew entails too severe a mental strain to be frequently cultivated_.) Free Speech SCENE--_An Open Space. Rain falling in torrents. An Indignation Meeting is being held to protest against the Royal Grants. The Chairman presides at a small portable reading-desk, generally alluded to as The "Nostrum"; a ring of more or less Earnest Radicals, under umbrellas, surround him. Speakers address the Meeting in rapid succession; a Man with a red flag gives it a sinister wave at any particularly vigorous expression. Her Gracious Majesty the Queen is repeatedly described as "this mis-rubble ole bein'," an Archbishop is invariably mentioned as an "Arch-rogue," while the orators and the audience appear from their remarks to be the only persons capable of worthily guiding this unhappy Country's destinies. Policemen in couples look on from a distance and smile indulgently._