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[ 80] <hr style="width: 85%;" /> <h2>IN THE MALL ON DRAWING-ROOM DAY.</h2> The line of carriages bound for Buckingham Palace is moving by slow stages down the Drive. A curious but not uncritical crowd, consisting largely of females, peer into the carriages as they pass, and derive an occult pleasure from a glimpse of a satin train and a bouquet. Other spectators circulate behind them, roving from carriage to carriage, straining and staring in at the occupants with the childlike interest of South Sea Islanders. The coachmen and footmen gaze impassively before them, ignoring the crowd to the best of their ability. The ladies in the carriages bear the ordeal of popular inspection with either haughty resignation, elaborate unconsciousness, or amused tolerance, and it is difficult to say which demeanour provokes the greatest resentment in the democratic breast. Chorus of Female Spectators. We shall see better here than what we did last Droring-Room. Law, 'ow it did come down, too, pouring the 'ole day. I was that sorry for the poor 'orses!... Oh, that one was nice, Marire! Did you see 'er train?—all flame-coloured satting—lovely! Ain't them flowers beautiful? Oh, Liza, 'ere's a pore skinny-lookin' thing coming next—look at 'er pore dear arms, all bare! But dressed 'andsome enough .... That's a Gineral in there, see? He's 'olding his cocked 'at on his knee to save the feathers—him and her have been 'aving words, apparently.... Oh, I do like this one. I s'pose that's her Mother with her—well, yes, o' course it may be her Aunt! A Sardonic Loafer. 'Ullo, 'ere's a 'aughty one! layin' back and[ 81] puttin' up 'er glorses! Know us agen, Mum, won't you? You may well look—you ain't seen so much in yer ole life as what you're seein' to-day, I'll lay! Ah, you ought to feel honoured, too, all of us comin' out to look at yer. Drored 'er blind down, this one 'as, yer see—knew she wasn't wuth looking at! <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/p81.png" width-obs="725" height-obs="600" alt=""OW, 'E SMOILED AT ME THROUGH THE BRORNCHES!"" title="" /> "OW, 'E SMOILED AT ME THROUGH THE BRORNCHES!"</div> [A carriage passes; the footman on the box is adorned by an enormous nosegay, over which he can just see. First Comic Cockney. Ow, I s'y—you 'ave come out in bloom, Johnny![ 82] Second C. C. Ah, they've bin forcin' 'im under glorse, they 'ave! 'Is Missis'll never find 'im under all them flowers. Ow, 'e smoiled at me through the brornches! [Another carriage passes, the coachman and footmen of which are undecorated. First C. C. Shime!—they might ha' stood yer a penny bunch of voilets between yer, that they might! The Sardonic L. 'Ere's a swell turn-out and no mistake—with a couple o' bloomin' beadles standin' be'ind! There's a full-fed 'un inside of it too,—look at the dimonds all over 'er bloomin' old nut. My eye! (The elderly dowager inside produces a cut-glass scent-bottle of goodly size.) Ah, she's got a drop o' the right sort in there—see her sniffin at it—it won't take 'er long to mop up that little lot! Jeames (behind the carriage, to Chawles). Our old geeser's perdoocin' the custimary amount o' sensation, eh, Chawley? Chawles (under notice). Well, thank 'Eving, I sha'n't have to share the responsibility of her much longer! 'Arriet (to 'Arry). I wonder they don't get tired o' being stared at like they are. 'Arry. Bless your 'art—they don't mind—they like it. They'll go 'ome and s'y (in falsetto) "Ow, Pa, all the bloomin' crowd kep' on a lookin' at us through the winder—it was proime!" 'Arriet (giggling admiringly). 'Ow do you know the w'y they tork? Arry (superior). Why, they don't tork partickler different from what you and me tork—do they? First Mechanic. See all them old blokes in red, with the rum 'ats, Bill? They're Beefeaters goin' to the Pallis, they are. Second M. What do they do when they git there? First M. Do? oh, mind the bloomin' staircase, and chuck out them as don' beyave themselves. A Restless Lady (to her husband). Harry, I don't like this place at all. I'm sure we could see better somewhere else. Do let's try and squeeze in somewhere lower down.... No, this is worse—that horrid tobacco! Suppose we cross over to the Palace? [They do so.[ 83] A Policeman. Too late to cross now, Sir—go back, please. [They go back and take up a position in front of the crowd on the curbstone. The R. L. There, we shall see beautifully here, Harry. A Crusty Matron (talking at the R. L. and her husband). Well, I'm sure, some persons have got a cheek, coming in at the last minnit and standing in front of those that have stood here hours—that's lady-like, I don't think! Nor yet, I didn't come here to have my eye poked out by other parties' pairosols. [Continues in this strain until the R. L. can stand it no longer, and urges her husband to depart. Chorus of Policemen. Pass along there, please, one way or the other—keep moving there, Sir. The R. L. But where are we to go—we must stand somewhere? A Policeman. Can't stand anywhere 'ere, Mum. [The unhappy couple are passed on from point to point, until they are finally hemmed in at a spot from which it is impossible to see anything whatever. Harry. If you had only been content to stay where you were at first, we should have been all right! The R. L. Nonsense, it is all your fault, you are the most hopeless person to go anywhere with. Why didn't you tell one of those policemen who we were? Harry. Why? Well, because I didn't see one who looked as if it would interest him, if you want to know. THE ROYAL CARRIAGES ARE APPROACHING. Chorus of Loyal Ladies of Various Ages. There—they're clearing the way—the Prince and Princess won't be long now. Here's the Life Guards' Band—don't they look byootiful in those dresses? Won't that poor drummer's arms ache to-morrow? This is the escort coming now.... 'Ere come the Royalties. Don't push so, Polly, you can see without that!... There, that was the Prince in the first one—did yer see[ 84] him, Polly? Oh, yes, leastwise I see the end of a cocked 'at, which I took to be 'im. Yes, that was 'im right enough.... There goes the Princess—wasn't she looking nice? I couldn't exactly make out which was her and which was the two young Princesses, they went by all in a flash like, but they did look nice!... 'Ere's another Royalty in this kerridge—'oo will she be, I wonder? Oh, I expect it would be the old Duchess of——No, I don't think it was 'er,—she wasn't looking pleasant enough,—and she's dead, too.... Now they have got inside—'ark at them playing bits of God Save the Queen. Well, I'm glad I've seen it. A Son (to cheery old Lady). 'Ow are you gettin' on, Mother, eh? Ch. O. L. First-rate, thankee, John, my boy. Son. You ain't tired standing about so long? Ch. O. L. Lor' bless you, no. Don't you worry about me. Son. Could you see 'em from where you was? Ch. O. L. I could see all the coachmen's 'ats beautiful. We'll wait and see 'em all come out, John, won't we? They won't be more than an hour and a half in there, I dessay. A Person with a Florid Vocabulary. Well, if I'd ha' known all I was goin' to see was a set o' blanky nobs shut up in their blank-dash kerridges, blank my blanky eyes if I'd ha' stirred a blanky foot, s'elp me Dash, I wouldn't! A Vendor (persuasively). The kerrect lengwidge of hevery flower <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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