_The car, drawn by four horses, and crowded with Excursionists
on pleasure bent, is toiling up the steep streets of St. Peter
Port, when it comes to a sudden halt._
[Illustration: "Endeavours to assume a knowing and horsey
expression."]
_Excursionists_ (_impatiently_). Now then, what's this? What are we
stopping here for?
_The Driver_. Ladies and Gentlemen, you will thoroughly understand
that it is customary for the car to stop here, in order that the
party may be photographed, thus providing an agreeable souvenir of
the trip, and a useful means of identification at Scotland Yard. (_A
Photographer appears in the road with a camera, and the party prepare
themselves for perpetuation in a pleased flutter_.) P'raps, Sir--(_to
a Mild Man on the box-seat_)--you'd like to be taken 'andling the
ribbons? Most of our Gentlemen do.
[_The Mild Man accepts the reins, and endeavours to assume a
knowing and horsey expression._
_A Timid Lady_ (_behind_). I _do_ hope no Gentleman will take the
reins, unless he is thoroughly accustomed to driving four-in-hand.
Suppose they took it into their heads to run away suddenly!
_Driver_ (_solemnly_). Don't you alarm yourself about that, Ma'am, in
the very slightest degree. These 'osses take that pride in themselves,
they'd stop here all day rather than spoil their own likenesses!
[_The M.
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