_Culch._ (_advances to piano and touches PODBURY's arm with the air
of his better angel_). Er--I have brought you the philosophical work
I mentioned. I will leave it for an occasion when you are--er--in a
fitter frame of mind for its perusal.
_Podb._ Oh, beg pardon, didn't see you, old fellow. Awfully obliged;
jam it down anywhere, and (_whispering_) I say, I want to introduce
you to--
_Culch._ (_in a tone of emphatic disapproval_). You must really excuse
me, as I fear I should be scarcely a congenial spirit in such a party.
So good night--or, rather--er--good-bye. [_He withdraws._
_Miss Hypatia P._ (_just as C. is about to close the door_). Please
don't stop, Mr. PODBURY, that song is quite too deliciously inane!
[_CULCHARD turns as he hears the voice, and--too
late--recognises his Athene of that afternoon. He retires in
confusion, and, as he passes under the window, hears PODBURY
sing the final verse._
The moral is--Now _don't_ you come from Fla-an-ders,
If you should have complexions rich and rare;
And don't you go and catch the yaller ja-aun-ders,
Nor yet know girls in Canonbury Square!
_Miss Hypatia P._ (_in a clear soprano_). "Nor yet know girls in
Canonbury Square!"
[_CULCHARD passes on, crushed._
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE STERNER SEX!
"HULLO, GERTY! YOU'VE GOT FRED'S HAT ON, AND HIS COVER COAT?"
"YES.
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