MR. POSKET.

Where on earth did you get that dress suit?

CIS.

Mum's the word, Guv. Brighton tailor--six months' credit. He promised to send in the bill to you, so the mater won't know. [_Putting MR.

POSKET'S hat on his head._] By Jove, Guv, don't my togs show you up?

MR. POSKET.

I won't go, I won't go. I've never met such a boy before.

CIS.

[_Proceeds to help him with his overcoat._] Mind your arm, Guv. You've got your hand in a pocket. No, no--that's a tear in the lining. That's it.

MR. POSKET.

I forbid you to go out!

CIS.

Yes, Guv. And I forbid you to eat any of those devilled oysters we shall get at the Hotel des Princes. Now you're right!

MR. POSKET.

I am not right!

CIS.

Oh, I forgot! [_He pulls out a handful of loose money._] I found this money in your desk, Guv. You had better take it out with you; you may want it. Here you are--gold, silver, and coppers. [_He empties the money into MR. POSKET'S overcoat pocket._] One last precaution, and then we're off.

[_Goes to the writing-table, and writes on a half-sheet of note-paper._

MR. POSKET.

I shall take a turn round the Square, and then come home again! I will not be influenced by a mere child! A man of my responsible position--a magistrate--supping slily at the Hotel des Princes, in Meek Street--it's horrible.

CIS.

Now, then--we'll creep downstairs quietly so as not to bring Wyke from his pantry. [_Giving MR. POSKET paper._] You stick that up prominently, while I blow out the candles.

[_CIS blows out the candles on the piano._

MR. POSKET.

[_Reading._] "Your master and Mr. Cecil Farringdon are going to bed.

Don't disturb them." I will not be a partner to any written doc.u.ment.

This is untrue.

CIS.

No, it isn't--we are going to bed when we come home. Make haste, Guv.

MR. POSKET.

Oh, what a boy.

[_Pinning the paper on to the curtain._

CIS.

[_Turning down the lamp, and watching MR. POSKET._] Hallo, Guv! hallo!

You're an old hand at this sort of game, are you?

MR. POSKET.

How dare you!

CIS.

[_Taking MR. POSKET'S arm._] Now, then, don't breathe.

MR. POSKET.

[_Quite demoralised._] Cis! Cis! Wait a minute--wait a minute!

CIS.

Hold up, Guv. [_WYKE enters._] Oh, bother!

WYKE.

[_To MR. POSKET._] Going out, sir?

MR. POSKET.

[_Struggling to be articulate._] No--yes--that is--partially--half round the Square, and possibly--er--um--back again. [_To CIS._] Oh, you bad boy!

WYKE.

[_Coolly going up to the paper on curtains._] Shall I take this down now, sir?

MR. POSKET.

[_Quietly to CIS._] I'm in an awful position! What am I to do?

CIS.