_Close under the Parade wall a large circle has been formed, consisting chiefly of Women on chairs and camp-stools, with an inner ring of small Children, who are all patiently awaiting the arrival of a troupe of Niggers. At the head of one of the flights of steps leading up to the Parade, a small and shrewish Child-nurse is endeavouring to detect and recapture a pair of prodigal younger Brothers, who have given her the slip._
_Sarah_ (_to herself_). Wherever can them two plegs have got to? (_Aloud; drawing a bow at a venture._) Albert! 'Enery! Come up 'ere this minnit. _I_ see yer!
_'Enery_ (_under the steps--to Albert_). I say--d'ye think she _do_?--'cos if----
_Sarah_ (_as before_). 'Enery! Albert! You've bin and 'alf killed little Georgie between yer!
_'Enery_ (_moved, to Albert_). Did you 'ear that, Bert? It wasn't _me_ upset him--was it now?
_Albert_ (_impenitent_). 'Oo cares? The Niggers'll be back direckly.
_Sarah._ Al-bert! 'Enery! Your father's bin down 'ere once after you. You'll _ketch_ it!
_Albert_ (_sotto voce_). Not till father ketches _us_, we shan't. Keep still, 'Enery--we're all right under 'ere!
_Sarah_ (_more diplomatically_). 'Enery! Albert! Father's bin and left a 'ap'ny apiece for yer. Ain't yer comin' up for it? If yer don't want it, why, stay where you are, that's all!
_Albert_ (_to 'Enery_). I _knoo_ we 'adn't done nothin'. An' I'm goin' up to git that 'ap'ny, I am.
[_They emerge, and ascend the steps--to be pounced upon immediately by the ingenious Sarah._
_Sarah._ 'Ap'ny, indeed! You won't git no 'apence _'ere_, I can tell yer--so jest you come along 'ome with me!
[_Exeunt Albert and 'Enery, in captivity, as the Niggers enter the circle._
_Bones._ We shall commence this afternoon by 'olding our Grand Annual Weekly Singing Competition, for the Discouragement of Youthful Talent. Now then, which is the little gal to step out first and git a medal? (_The Children giggle, but remain seated._) Not one? Now I arsk _you_--What _is_ the use o' me comin' 'ere throwin' away thousands and thousands of pounds on golden medals, if you won't take the trouble to stand up and sing for them? Oh, you'll make me so wild, I shall begin spittin' 'alf-sovereigns directly--I _know_ I shall! (_A little Girl in a sun-bonnet comes forward._) Ah, 'ere's a young lady who's bustin' with melody, _I_ can see. Your name, my dear? Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the pleasure to announce that Miss Connie Cockle will now appear. Don't curtsey till the Orchestra gives the chord. (_Chord from the harmonium--the Child advances, and curtsies with much aplomb._) Oh, lor! call _that_ a curtsey--that's a _cramp_, that is! Do it all over again! (_The Child obeys, disconcerted._) That's _worse_! I can see the s'rimps blushin' for yer inside their paper bags! Now see Me do it. (_Bones executes a caricature of a curtsey, which the little Girl copies with terrible fidelity._) That's _ladylike_--that's genteel. Now sing _out_! (_The Child sings the first verse of a popular music-hall song, in a squeaky little voice._) Talk about nightingales! Come 'ere, and receive the reward for extinguished incapacity. On your knees! (_The little Girl kneels before him while a tin medal is fastened upon her frock._) Rise, Sir Connie Cockle! Oh, you _lucky_ girl!