BUILDER. [With a deeply muttered] The devil you do!
Walks out of the room. The JOURNALIST, grabbing his pad, starts up
and follows. The BUILDERS rise and huddle, and, with HERRINGHAME,
are ushered out by HARRIS.
MAYOR. [Pulling out a large handkerchief and wiping his forehead]
My Aunt!
CHANTREY. These new constables, Mayor! I say, Builder'll have to go!
Damn the Press, how they nose everything out! The Great Unpaid!--
We shall get it again! [He suddenly goes off into a fit of laughter]
"Come off it," I says, "to the best of my recollection." Oh! Oh!
I shan't hit a bird all day! That poor devil Builder! It's no joke for
him. You did it well, Mayor; you did it well. British justice is safe
in your hands. He blacked the fellow's eye all right. "Which I herewith
produce." Oh! my golly! It beats the band!
His uncontrollable laughter and the MAYOR'S rueful appreciation are
exchanged with lightning rapidity for a preternatural solemnity, as
the door opens, admitting SERGEANT MARTIN and the lugubrious object
of their next attentions.
MAYOR. Charges.
SERGEANT steps forward to read the charge as
The CURTAIN falls.
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