The Magistrate Part 18

No, no. You're Skinner.

MR. POSKET.

Oh!

[_Wanders round the room._

CIS.

 

Mr. Skinner, of the Stock Exchange. What have you ready?

ISIDORE.

[_In an undertone to CIS._] I beg your pardon--very good--but Monsieur Blond he say to me, "Isidore, listen now; if Mr. Farringdon he come here, you say, I beg your pardon, you are a nice gentleman, but will you pay your little account when it is quite convenient, before you leave the house at once."

CIS.

Quite so, there's no difficulty about that. What's the bill?

ISIDORE.

[_Gives the bill._] I beg your pardon. Eight pounds four s.h.i.+llings.

CIS.

Phew! Here go my winnings from old Bullamy and the Guv. [_Counting out money._] Two pounds short. [_Turning to MR. POSKET, who is carefully examining the scratches on the mirrors._] Skinner! Skinner!

MR. POSKET.

Visitors evidently scratch their names on the mirrors. Dear me! Surely this is a spurious t.i.tle--"Lottie, d.u.c.h.ess of Fulham!" How very curious!

CIS.

Skinner, got any money with you?

MR. POSKET.

Yes, Cis, my boy.

[_Feels for his money._

CIS.

You always keep it in that pocket, Skinner.

MR. POSKET.

[_Taking out money._] Oh, yes.

[_CIS takes two sovereigns from MR. POSKET and gives the amount of his bill to ISIDORE, who goes to the sideboard to count out change._

CIS.

No putting the change to bed, Isidore,

MR. POSKET.

What's that?

CIS.

Putting the change to bed! Isidore will show you. [_To ISIDORE, who comes to them with the change and the bill on a plate._] Isidore, show Mr. Skinner how you put silver to bed.

ISIDORE.

Oh, Mr. Farringdon, I beg your pardon--no, no!

MR. POSKET.

It would be most instructive.

ISIDORE.

Very good. [_Goes to the table, upon which he puts plate._] Say I have to give you change sixteen s.h.i.+llings.

MR. POSKET.

Certainly.

ISIDORE.

Very good. Before I bring it to you I slip a little half-crown under the bill--so. Then I put what is left on the top of the bill, and I say, "I beg your pardon, your change." You take it, you give me two s.h.i.+llings for myself, and all is right.

MR. POSKET.

[_Counting the silver on the bill with the end of his gla.s.ses._] Yes, but suppose I count the silver, it is half-a-crown short!

ISIDORE.

Then I say, "I beg your pardon, how dare you say that?" Then I do so.

[_He pulls the bill from the plate._] Then I say, "The bill is eight pounds four s.h.i.+llings [_handing the plate_], count again."

MR. POSKET.

Ah, of course, it's all right now.

ISIDORE.

Very good, then you give me five s.h.i.+llings for doubting me. Do it; do it.