_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 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!
[Illustration: "OW, 'E SMOILED AT ME THROUGH THE BRORNCHES!"]
[_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!
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._
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.