"Wot country
d'yer think yer in? Prussia?"
By this time a small crowd has gathered on the pavement and is gazing
up at the protagonists with ghoulish interest. The lady in the
diamonds, a prey to mingled indignation and alarm, has leant towards
her spouse and is whispering to him urgently, but he shakes her off
with an impatient movement.
"Not on yer life," he snaps. "They won't get a cent out o' me."
"Ho, won't we!" exclaims his accuser hotly. "We'll soon see about
that. We're English people, we are--we don't allow people to go about
destroyin' our b'loons."
"No wonder they're so rich," cries the woman at the bottom of
the steps in satirical tones. "That's the way to get rich, that
is--destroyin' other people's prop'ty an' then refusin' to pay for it.
Anybody could get rich that way."
Reflections on the feasibility of this novel financial scheme are cut
short by the appearance at the top of the steps of the hotel porter,
who touches the originator of the disturbance on the shoulder.
"Come on, you're not allowed up 'ere, you know," he observes.
"Ho, ain't I?" retorts the man defiantly. "Is this Buckingham Pallis?"
"You can't come up 'ere unless you've got business in the 'otel,"
states the porter unmoved.
"So I 'ave got bisness 'ere," declares the other.
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