Part 17 (1/2)

[_MISS S. accepts this tribute with complacency._

MRS. FLITT. A skirt-dance will be the very thing. It's sure to please the people we shall bring over for it--and of course they'll be in the front rows. Yes, I must put _that_ down. We ought to have a song next.

Mrs. Tuberose, you promised to come and sing for us--you will, won't you?

MRS. TUBEROSE. Delighted! I rather thought of doing a dear little song Stephan Otis has just brought out. It's called ”_Forbidden Fruit_,” and he wrote it expressly for me. It goes like this.

[_She sits down at the piano, and sings, with infinite expression and tenderness._

”Only the moon espies our bliss, Through the conscious cl.u.s.ters of clematis, Shedding star-sweet showers.

To-morrow the world will have gone amiss-- Now I gaze in your eyes, love, I thrill to your kiss-- So let us remember naught but this: That To-night is ours!

Yes, this pa.s.sionate, perilous, exquisite night-- Is Ours!”

SEVERAL VOICES. Charmin'.... Otis puts so much real feeling into all his songs ... quite a little gem! &c., &c.

LADY DAMP. I should have thought myself that it was rather advanced--for an East-End audience--

MRS. TUBEROSE (_nettled_). Really, dear Lady Dampier, if people see nothing to object in it _here_, I don't see why they should be more particular at the East-End!

MRS. FLITT. Oh, no,--and as if it matters what the _words_ are in the song. I daresay if one heard _their_ songs----Now we want another song--something as different as possible.

MR. GARDINIER. Heard a capital song at the ”Pav.” the other night--something about a c.o.c.k-eyed Kipper. Just suit my voice. I could easily get the words and music, and do that for you--if you like.

SEVERAL VOICES. A c.o.c.k-eyed Kipper! It sounds too killing! Oh, we _must_ have that!

LADY DAMP. Might I ask what kind of creature a--a ”c.o.c.k-eyed Kipper” may be?

MR. GARD. Oh, well, I suppose it's a sort of a dried herring--with a squint, don't you know.

LADY DAMP. I see no humour in making light of a personal deformity, I must say.

MR. GARD. Oh, don't you? _They_ will--it'll go with a scream there!

MISS DIOVA ROSE. Yes, poor dears--and we mustn't mind being just a little vulgar for once--to cheer them up.

LADY HONOR. I have been to the Pavilion and the Tivoli myself, and I heard nothing to object to. I know I was much more amused than I ever am at theatres--_they_ bore me to death.

MR. BAGOTRIX. We might finish up with _Mrs. Jarley's Waxworks_, you know. Some of you can be the figures, and I'll come on in a bonnet and shawl as _Mrs. Jarley_, and wind you up and describe you. I've done it at lots of places in the country; brought in personal allusions and all that sort of thing, and made everybody roar.

LADY DAMP. But will the East-Enders understand your personal allusions?

MR. BAG. Well, you see, the people in the front rows will, which is all _I_ want.

LADY HONOR (_suspiciously_). Isn't _Mrs. Jarley_ out of _Pickwick_, though? That's d.i.c.kens, surely!

MR. BAG. (_rea.s.suringly_). Nothing but the name, Lady Honor. I make up all the patter myself, so that'll be all right--just good-natured chaff, you know; if anybody's offended--as I've known them to be--it's no fault of mine.

MRS. FLITT. Oh, I'm sure you will make it funny,--and about getting someone to preside--I suppose we ought to ask the Vicar of the nearest church?

LADY HONOR. Wouldn't it be better to get somebody--a--more in Society, don't you know?