_Chairman_ (_interposing_). I think, as our friend here don't seem able
to keep to his point, we won't call upon him for any further remarks.
[THE D. M. _is hustled down, amidst derisive cheers and groans;
the_ SOCIALIST _ascends the Platform_.
THE SOCIALIST. I don't mind tellin' yer, friends and feller citizens,
that in the late election in Heast Marylebone, I used all my
influence--(_cheers_)--all _my_ influence to deter men from voting for
your Radical candidate. (_Sensation, and a cry of "More shame for
yer!"_) Ah, I _did_, though, and I'd do it agin, and I'll tell yer for
why. I 'ate yer Tories, but if I'm to be 'it a blow in the face, I don't
like it done behind my back. (_Cheers_). And your precious Liberals and
Radicals, they're worse nor hany Tories, and for this reason--(_with a
penetrating glance_)--they're more hinvidious! Ah, that's it, they're
more _hinvidious_! Traitors, hevery man jack of 'em!
[_And so on, concluding with denunciations of all "sending
round the 'at," and appeals for contributions to the Plan of
Campaign. Meeting dissolves with three cheers for the coming
Republic from the victims of a Tyrannous System of Repression
of Opinion._
The Riding-Class.
SCENE--_A Riding-school, on a raw chilly afternoon. The gas is
lighted, but does not lend much cheerfulness to the interior,
which is bare and bleak, and pervaded by a bluish haze. Members
of the Class discovered standing about on the tan, waiting for
their horses to be brought in. At the further end is an alcove,
with a small balcony, in which_ MRS. BILBOW-KAY, _the Mother of
one of the Equestrians, is seated with a young female Friend_.
MRS. BILBOW-KAY. Oh, Robert used to ride very nicely indeed when he was
a boy; but he has been out of practice lately, and so, as the Doctor
ordered him horse-exercise, I thought it would be wiser for him to take
a few lessons. Such an excellent change for any one with sedentary
pursuits!
THE FRIEND. But isn't riding a sedentary pursuit, too?
MRS. B.-K. Robert says _he_ doesn't find it so.
[_Enter the_ RIDING MASTER.
RIDING MASTER (_saluting with cane_). Evenin', Gentlemen--your 'orses
will be in directly; 'ope we shall see some _ridin'_ this time.
(_Clatter without; enter Stablemen with horses._) Let me see--Mr.
Bilbow-Kay, Sir, you'd better ride the _Shar_; he ain't been out all
day, so he'll want some 'andling. (Mr. B.-K., _with a sickly smile,
accepts a tall and lively horse_.) No, Mr. Tongs, that ain't _your_
'orse to-day--you've got beyond _'im_, Sir. We'll put you up on _Lady
Loo_; she's a bit rough till you get on terms with her, but you'll be
all right on her after a bit. Yes, Mr. Joggles, Sir, you take
_Kangaroo_, please. Mr. Bumpas, I've 'ad the _Artful Dodger_ out for
you; and mind he don't get rid of you so easy as he did Mr. Gripper
last time. Got a nice 'orse for _you_, Mr. 'Arry
Sniggers, Sir--_Frar Diavolo_. You mustn't take no notice of his bucking
a bit at starting--he'll soon leave it off.
[Illustration: "YOU AIN'T NO MORE 'OLD ON THAT SADDLE THAN A STAMP WITH
THE GUM LICKED OFF!"]
MR. SNIGGERS (_who conceals his qualms under a forced facetiousness_).
Soon leave _me_ off you mean!
R. M. (_after distributing the remaining horses_). Now then--bring your
'orses up into line, and stand by, ready to mount at the word of
command, reins taken up in the left 'and with the second and little
fingers, and a lock of the 'orse's mane twisted round the first. Mount!
That 'orse ain't a _bicycle_, Mr. Sniggers. [Mr. S. (_in an undertone_).
No--worse luck!] Number off! Walk! I shall give the word to trot
directly, so now's the time to improve your seats--that back a bit
straighter, Mr. 'Ooper. No. 4 just fall out, and we'll let them
stirrup-leathers down another 'ole or two for yer. (_No. 4, who has just
been congratulating himself that his stirrups were conveniently high,
has to see them let down to a distance where he can just touch them by
stretching._) Now you're all comfortable. ["Oh, _are_ we?" _from_ MR.
S.] Trot! Mr. Tongs, Sir, 'old that 'orse in--he's gettin' away with you
already. Very bad, Mr. Joggles, Sir--keep those 'eels down! Lost your
stirrup, Mr. Jelly? Never mind that--_feel_ for it, Sir. I want you to
be independent of the irons. I'm going to make you ride without 'em
presently. (Mr. Jelly _shivers in his saddle_.) Captin' Cropper, Sir; if
that Volunteer ridgment as you're goin' to be the Major of sees you like
you are now, on a field-day--they'll 'ave to fall out to _larf_, Sir!
(Mr. Cropper _devoutly wishes he had been less ingenuous as to his
motive for practising his riding_.) Now, Mr. Sniggers, make that 'orse
learn 'oo's the master! [Mr. S. "He _knows_, the brute!"]
MRS. B.-K. He's very rude to all the Class, except dear Robert--but then
Robert has such a nice easy seat.
THE R. M. Mr. Bilbow-Kay, Sir, try and set a bit closer. Why, you ain't
no more 'old on that saddle than a stamp with the gum licked off!
Can-ter! _You're_, all right, Mr. Joggles--it's on'y his play; set down
on your saddle, Sir!... I didn't say on the ground!
MRS. B.-K. (_anxiously to her_ SON, _as he passes_). Bob, are you quite
sure you're safe? (_To_ FRIEND.) His horse is snorting so dreadfully!
R. M. 'Alt! Every Gentleman take his feet out of the stirrups, and cross
them on the saddle in front of him. Not your _feet_, Mr. Sniggers, we
ain't Turks 'ere!