_Indignant Gentleman (who has a habit of constituting himself the stern representative of Public Opinion)._ No Cabs! Halloa!--Stationmaster--Guard--Hi--you Sir--Here; what's the meaning of this?
_Station Officer (respectfully, but sadly)._ Cabs struck, Sir, I'm sorry to say.
_Hopeless Lady (who has a happy faculty of seeing the worst at a glance)._ Oh! I was sure something dreadful would happen.
_Indignant Gentleman._ Cabs struck? What the devil! eh--d'ye mean to tell me--struck!
_Officer._ Not a Cab to be had all over London!
_Indignant Gentleman (whom the unhappy passengers have already begun to look up to, so imposing is his manner)._ Here's a pretty state of things--the blackguards! But they're punishable. They're bound to ply for hire--it's illegal.
_Officer._ Can't say, Sir. But they've done it, any way.
[INDIGNANT GENTLEMAN _delivers a withering Philippic against the Executive in general, and_ MR. FITZROY _in particular, which is respectfully received by the Passengers, but does not excite much attention from the Railway Officials, whom he threatens violently with damages to a large amount_. THE UNPROTECTED FEMALE, _who has heard the preceding dialogue, seems stupefied. She has not uttered even a cry or an exclamation, but sits helpless and hopeless, amidst a barricade of her luggage_.
_Practical Man (who has hitherto said nothing, but heard everything,--to a Porter.)_ Can I get a man to carry my luggage?
_1st Porter._ We'll carry on it all outside the Station, Sir; there's men there--
_2nd Porter (shouldering a mountain of Portmanteaus)._ And wehicles--
_3rd Porter (upheaving a similar load, and half to himself)._ Sich as they is.
[_The Porters have by this time arrived at the luggage of_ THE UNPROTECTED, _who still sits as if crushed by the blow_.
_Cheery Porter._ Now, Marm; jest sit up off the trunk, will ye--
_The Unprotected (suddenly awaking to a sense of her desolation)._ Oh!--where?
_Cheery Porter._ Anyvheres, ma'am; only let me ketch a hold. Now, JEM.
[_Her luggage is appropriated by the united efforts of two Porters, who are bearing it off._
_Unprotected Female (vaguely following and clutching at the load.)_ Oh!--but where to? You never can--it's to 38, Great Coram Street--and there's bottles in the bag,--by the name of JONES. Oh--please--couldn't you--