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Yes, but deceiving your mother!
CIS.
_Deceiving_ the mater would be to tell her a crammer--a thing, I hope, we're both of us much above.
MR. POSKET.
Good boy, good boy.
CIS.
_Concealing_ the fact that we're going to have a bit of supper at the Hotel des Princes, is doing my mother a great kindness, because it would upset her considerably to know of the circ.u.mstances. You've been wrong, Guv, but we won't say anything more about that. Read the letter.
[_Gives MR. POSKET the letter._
MR. POSKET.
[_Reading in a dazed sort of a way._] "Hotel des Princes, Meek Street, W. Dear Sir,--Unless you drop in and settle your arrears, I really cannot keep your room for you any longer. Yours obediently, Achille Blond. Cecil Farringdon, Esq." Good heavens! You have a room at the Hotel das Princes!
CIS.
A room! It's little better than a coop.
MR. POSKET.
You don't occupy it?
CIS.
But my friends do. When I was at Brighton I was in with the best set--hope I always shall be. I left Brighton--nice hole I was in. You see, Guv, I didn't want my friends to make free with your house.
MR. POSKET.
Oh, didn't you?
CIS.
So I took a room at the Hotel des Princes--when I want to put a man up he goes there. You see, Guv, it's _you_ I've been considering more than myself.
MR. POSKET.
But you are a mere child.
CIS.
A fellow is just as old as he feels. I feel no end of a man. Hush, they're coming down! I'm off to tell Wyke about the rickety four-wheeler.
MR. POSKET.
Cis, Cis! Your mother will discover I have been out.
CIS.
Oh, I forgot, you're married, aren't you?
MR. POSKET.
Married!
CIS.
Say you are going to the club.
MR. POSKET.
But that's not the truth, sir!
CIS.
Yes it is. We'll pop in at the club on our way, and you can give me a bitters.
[_Goes out._
MR. POSKET.
Good gracious, what a boy! Hotel des Princes, Meek Street! What shall I do? Tell his mother? Why, it would turn her hair grey. If I could only get a quiet word with this Mr. Achille Blond, I could put a stop to everything. That is my best course, not to lose a moment in rescuing the child from his boyish indiscretion. Yes, I must go with Cis to Meek Street.
_Enter AGATHA POSKET and CHARLOTTE, elegantly dressed._
AGATHA POSKET.
Have you sent for a cab, aeneas?
MR. POSKET.
Cis is looking after that.
AGATHA POSKET.
Poor Cis! How late we keep him up.
_CIS comes in._
CIS.
Wyke has gone for a cab, ma dear.
AGATHA POSKET.
