zagonde; de tirt. Hier de haid tink dey vant to poot him in a goffin.
Dere are _two_ haids--von goes op, de udder down. Haf you got de two?
Nod yet? No?

_Podbury_ (_shaking his head sagaciously_). Oh, ah, yes. Capital! Rum
subject, though.

_Guide._ Yais, vary magnifique, vary grandt, and--and rom also! Dees
von rebresents Napoleon in hail. De modders show him de laigs and
ahums of dair sons keeled in de vars, and invide him to drink a cop of
bloodt.

_Podb._ Ha, cheery picture that!

_Guide._ Cheery, oh, yais! Now com and beep troo dis 'ole. (_PODBURY
obeys with docility._) You see? A Mad Voman cooking her shildt in a
gettle. Hier again, dey haf puried a man viz de golera pefore he is
daid, he dries to purst de goffin, you see only de handt shdicking
oudt.

_Podb._ The old Johnny seems full of pretty fancies. (_He looks
through another peephole._) Girl looking at skeleton. Any other
domestic subjects on view? (_He suddenly sees Miss TROTTER and
CULCHARD with their backs to him._) Hal--lo, this _is_ luck! I must
go to the rescue, or that beggar CULCHARD will bore her to death in
no time. (_To Guide._) Here, hold on a minute. (_Crosses to CULCHARD,
followed by Guide._) How d'ye do, Miss TROTTER? Doing the Wild
Wiertz Show, I see. Ah, CULCHARD, why didn't you tell me you were
going--might have gone together. I say, I've got a guide here.