ACT I.--_A West End Club Smoking Room. Philosophic Philanthropists

discovered disposing of question of the hour._

_First Philosophic Philanthropist (putting down Times)._ Well, I'm sure nothing could be more satisfactory, and it's all clearly set down here. Not a single soul in the Metropolis need pass the night in the streets. Here's the whole thing set out, chapter and verse. It seems the Police take the matter in hand, and there's a decent night's lodging provided for every single tramp who's in want of it.

_Second Philosophic Philanthropist._ Just so. Of course one knows there's no end of exaggerated clap-trap talked about the matter. The thing's as simple as can be. They're drafted off to the Casual Wards, where there is clean, wholesome, and comparatively comfortable accommodation; and the system works perfectly, and is capitally organised.

_First Philosophic Philanthropist (warmly)._ Capitally!

[_Are left mutually congratulating each other on the ample provision made by the Authorities for the nightly shelter of the homeless Metropolitan poor as the scene closes in._