Ah, dear children, what a thing a good old
mother is! (_To the Vicar's Daughter_. "I really can _not_ keep on
like this much longer. I'm positively certain these slides are out of
order!") _The V.'s D._ "Oh no; I'm sure it's _all_ right. Do _please_
go on. They're _so_ interested!" _The Young Heckler_. "'Ow bout
Valentoine, Zur?--wheer be 'ee?" Ah, where is Valentine, indeed? (_To
Ass._) Next slide--quick! (_Recognises with dismay a View of the Grand
Canal._) No--but, I say--_really_ I _can't_--Here we have Valentine at
Venice. He has reached that beautiful city,--well called the Queen of
the Adriatic,--at last! He contemplates it from his gondola, and yet
he has no heart just now to take in all the beauty of the scene. He
feels that he is still no nearer to finding Orson than before. (_The
Young Heckler_. "Naw moor be we, Zur. We ain't zeed _nayther_ on 'em
zo fur!" _Tumult, and a general demand for the instant production of
Orson or Valentine._) Now, children, children! this is very irregular.
You must allow me to tell this story my own way. You will see them
both in good time, if you only keep still! (_To Ass._) I can't stand
this any more. Valentine and Orson must be underneath the rest. Find
them, and shove them in quick. Never mind the numbering! (_The screen
remains blank while the Assistant fumbles.
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