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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.
