[_The public apparently want to look another way._
_First Bookmaker_ (_to_ Second Bookmaker). Not much 'ere to-day! Shawn't get no roast baked and biled this journey, eh?
_Second B._ (_with deep disgust_). They ain't _got_ no money! Baymouth's going down. Why, this might be a bloomin' Sunday-school treat! Blest if I believe they know what we're 'ere _for!_
_Third B._ (_after pausing to refresh himself, sardonically to_ Fourth Bookmaker). De-lightful weather, WILLIAM!
_William_ (_in a similar tone of irony_). What a glorious day, PERCY! Sech a treat to see all the people enjoyin' theirselves without any o' the silly speculation yer _do_ find sometimes on occasions like this! (_He accepts the bottle his friend passes, and drinks._) 'Ere's better luck to us all!
_Fifth B._ (_pathetically_). Don't leave your little FREDDY out! (_They DON'T leave their little FREDDY out._) Cheer up, WILLIAM, there 's 'appier days in store; there'll be Jersey comin' soon. We'll be orf to the sunny south! (_To a stranger who comes up to him._) Why, Uncle, you don't say it's you! How _well_ you're looking! Shake 'ands and 'ave a bit on, jest for ole sake's sake! (_The stranger proceeds to introduce himself as the_ Secretary, _and to demand a fee._) What! pay you five shillins for standin' 'ere wastin' my time and voice like this? Not me! Why, I aint took two blessed sorcepans since I bin 'ere! (_The_ Secretary _remains firm._) I won't do it, my boy. Not on _prinserple_, I won't. I wouldn't give you five shillins not if your tongue was 'anging down on to your boots--so there! (_The_ Secretary _does not attempt so violent an appeal to his better nature, but calls a police-inspector._) 'Ere, I'd sooner git down and chuck the show altogether; jest to mark my contempt for such goings on! (_He descends from his box; takes down his sign, unscrews his pole, folds up his professional triptych, and departs in a state of virtuous indignation only to be expressed by extreme profanity, while the_ Secretary _proceeds unmoved to collect payments from the others; who eventually compromise the claims for half-a-crown._)
_Mr. Sam Satchell_ (_"from Southampton"_). Now then, you gentlemen and aristocratic tradesmen, where _are_ you all? Don't any o' you know _anything?_ Come on 'ere. (_He stops an elderly rustic._) You've got a fancy, I can see! (_The rustic denies the impeachment, grinning._) Git along with yer, yer artful ole puss, then, and don't keep gentlemen away as wants to bet! (_To a Yeomanry trooper._) Come along, my ole soldier-boy, give it a name! (_His old soldier-boy declines to give it any name, and passes on._) Call yerself a warrior bold, and afraid o' riskin' 'alf-a-crown! Why, yer Queen and country orter be ashamed o' yer! (_As a young farmer in riding-gaiters come up, with the evident intention of business._) Ah, _you_ don't forget the old firm, I see.... What, four to one not good enough for you? You won't get no better odds, go where you _like!_ I suppose you expeck me to make you a present o' the money? (_The farmer moves on._) I dunno what's _come_ to 'em all. _I_ never see nothing like it in all _my_ life!