_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!
[_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 o'
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 shan'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' stair-case, and chuck out them as
don't 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
ladylike, 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.