WHERE 'BUSES MEET.

Press, Volume LII, Issue 9300, 30 December 1895, Page 2

WHERE 'BUSES MEET.

St. James , a Budget,

[Busy evening, at Oxford-circus. 'Buses continually arriving with much haste, and departing on suggestion of division with undisguised reluctance. 'Bus-horses wink at each other and adjust their collars and glance casually at placards of evening journals.] Driver of Kilburn 'Bus (to conductor of Bayswater : bus)—Hi, there ! You with the nose ! When you're tired of that little bit of free'old you're standing on, 'ow'd it be to let it to someone else ? Bayswater Conductor —Go and lose your face. Kilburn (ironically)—Oh, yes; I dare say. That'djust suit you. You'd go and find it, you would, and wear it and pretend you was a blanky toff. (Laughs.) Not mc ! I can see through your little game. (To horse) Come up there ! (Horse comes up ; 'bus moves and stops again.) 'Ere y'are, miss. Kight for Chapel-street; plenty of room on top near the driver. (To driver of Liverpool-street 'bus on opposite side) What cheer, mc old Ginger Beer. 'O\v goes it? Ginger Beer (flicking his horses) —All •anyhow. Kileurn (shouting)— Going round to old Wheelan's to-night ? Ginger Beer—Not mc. It's a bit too steep round there. I nearly got my 'cad bit 'alf off the last time over a bit of a nargument. Kilburn —He certainly goes in for a bit of debitin' now and again. Missus all right ? Ginger Beer (despondently) —No, all wrong. I shall 'aye to sell up my 'appy ome if her temper don't get a bit better. Why, last night [Kilburn is moved on by insistent con. stable.] Youthful Driver (silk hat, flower in coat, to lady on front seat behind him) — Well, I just passed the time of day to her becaiise (excusingly), after all, you must treat a lady as a lady. Front Seat Lady (severely)— That's all very well, but Youthful Driver—And she was sitting where you are now, and she leans over just as you might and she says, " Goo' gracious, Jim,"'she says, "I didn't know you in a 'igh 'at," she says. Front Seat Lady (indignantly)— Cheek of the creature ! Youthful Driver—And I didn't want to 'aye no conversation with her. (Whips side of 'bus as sign to conductor.) She's a girl I never cottoned to particular ; but she kept on jor, jor, jor, all the way from Marble Arch right up to Kilburn 'igh street. Front Seat Lady—Horrid thing ! Did she say anything about mc ? Youthful Driver —Oh, bless you, I don't know who she didn't talk about. To 'ear that woman carry on yo\i'cl think she was the Archangel Gibriel at the very least. Knew everything about everybody. Front Seat Lady—Scandalising 'umbiig. She'd better not set anything about concerning mc. I'd learn 'er if she did. Youthful Driver —But there's one thing about her sister Ada that she let out; it'd never do to tell you, but it was a rare rich bit. Front Seat Lady—Oh, do, James. (Bends her head to hear.) Go on ; you know it won't go any farther with mc. (Youthful Driver whispers.) Other Drivers—(in chorus reprovingly). Ah, norty, norty! Youthful Driver (concluding tale). And he never knew anything about it from that day to this. Front Seat Lady—Well, that's the rarest old tale I've 'card for a long time. (Clicks her tongue amazedly.) Well, well. You never know what people really are until you find them out, do you ? I'm sure I've been taken in over and over again with fellow-servants that have come fresh to the family. They're as nice as new-mown 'ay when they come first, and you say to yourself, " Now this is a woman I can make a friend of "; and then, after a bit, you find out that they're just as bad as the rest, if not worse. (Sniffs aggrievedly.) In fact, I don't trust no one, I don't. Only the other day I lent a lady friend of mine, who's in service Pembridge-square way, a new hat to wear just for one evening because she was going out. Well, she sent it back. Next day I meets her casual like, and (bitterly), if you please, there was mc lady with her old hat—her old hat, mind you—all altered and retrimmed just the same as my new one! There's a nice trick to play anybody, wasn't it? Youthful Driver—Ah, this . is a rum world. (He ruminates.) . Cricklewood Driver (to coachman of private brougham in front) —Now then, there ! What the Private Brougham—Well, I must draw up somewhere, mustn't I ? Cricklewood Driver (witli forced politeness). Pardon my awsking, but when's that coachman of yours coming back to yrork, old man? I reckon them weeds '11 want a lot of attention when you get back to your proper duties. (Private coachman does not answer). I say, I say ! Private Brougham —What now ? Cricklewood (with much concern) —Bad job about your cook, old man. I only 'card about it the other day. What a giddy old kipper you are, aren't you ? (Private coachman turns blue). How do you explain your success with the fair sect, I wonder ? (With air of extreme interest) I suppose it's your 'igh-class manner as much as anything. [Private Brougham, to relief of Private Coachman, moves.] Conductor (to red-iaced, whitehaired driver of inquisitive 'bua-horse). 'Ere ! keep your 'oree off, I don't want him to go and get chewing mc. Elderly Driver—Oh, that won't 'urt him, nipper. That 'orse '11 eat almost anything that's green. Small Conductor (annoyed)—E,oyal Oak, Bays-water, Westbun Grove ! Elderly Driver—l say ! I don't reckon that stuff ever did any good, do you ? Small Conductor (unwarily)— You don't reckon what stuff didn't do any good ? Sm.derl-y Driver—Why, that stuff you been using to make your moustache grow. If I was you I would let nature take ite

course. I wouldn't worry about it if I was you. (Kindly) Never you mind about the girls chaffing. Small Conductor (with much acerbity). —All right, old Strorberry-and-cream. Elderly Driver (apoplectic). —You call mc Strorberry-and-cream again and I'll get j down off my box and make strorberry and cream of you. Your own mother won't recognise you when I've finished. (Small Conductor rings to start). Small Conductor (going).—Strorberry-and-cream ! Yah! Now, then, let's see what you can do. Elderly Driver (loudly).—Don't you let mc come across you again without your mother being with you. She no business to let her kids go riding about on Small Conductor.—Why don't you paint your nose another colour, you beauty, you. Get hold of some Aspinall and Elderly Driver (shouting).—Get 'ome i Get 'ome ! It's past your bedtime. You : youngsters are always troublesome after ite o'clock. If C 041.— Not so much of it there, Bayswater. Elderly Driver—Right you are, Inspector (pulls reins). Only 'aving a friendly : chat. C 041. You 'aye your friendly chat 'igher up then. [Elderly Driver goes higher up.] Bayswater (politely). I'll tell 'em I saw you. They sure to ask after you. I sha'n't forget to mention your name next Sunday afternoon. Shepherd's Bush (unguardedly)— Who to? Bayswater—One of 'em's sure to say, " ; o\v ! 8 that brother of mine on a Shepherd's J Bush 'bus a-gettin' on ?" And I shall tell 'em. ! Shepherd's Bush (shouting anxiously as he goes). Who d'you mean 1 Who are you going to see next Sunday ? Bayswater (with great triumph). Why, the monkeya at the Zoo. j Shepherd's Bush (with feelings too strong , for words). Bah! [Goea.] I Amused Conductor (stepping round to his driver)—l say, Barnes, did you see her up in 'O'born standing at the shop-door ? Driver—Did I not ? (Laughs consumedly. Outside passengers much interested). Did I not see her. Reminds you of the old days, don't it ? Conductor—You 'eai-d that bit about her and her sister didn't you ? (Passengers lean over and listen.) You know. That time up at Cricklewood. Driver—Oh, I know what you mean. (Laughs again until he weeps. Outside passengers frantic to hear particulars.) Talk about a caution ! Did she see you? Conductor—l wived mc 'and to hor; but I don't think ehe recognised mc. I'd 'alf a mind to 'oiler out " How about Kemden Town ?" but I thought it wasn't worth while. Driver—Ah, that would 'aye made her laugh. (Wipes his eyes and relights his cigar.) I never knew such a one for a joke as she used to be. You ought to hear old B. talk about her. Conductor —Old who ? Driver —Old B. (Passengers frown at suppression of name). You know who I mean. Him that married the barmaid up at the King's 'Ead. Conductor—Oh I know. What did he say about her? (Passengers listen with renewed eagerness.) Driver (releases brake) —I'll tell you when we get to the stables. (To horses) Now then, move yourselves, can't you ! [Passengers groan with bitter disappointment. Horses whisper to each other to pull. Exeunt, Marble Arch way.] W. Pett Ridge.