POLICEMAN. Stand up.

CINDERELLA. I’m standing up.

POLICEMAN. Now, no sauce. Now then, what are you staring at?

CINDERELLA. That’s a poor way to polish a belt. If I was a officer I would think shame of having my belt in that condition.

POLICEMAN. It’s easy to speak; it’s a miserable polish I admit, but mind you, I’m pretty done when my job’s over; and I have the polishing to do myself.

CINDERELLA. You have no woman person?

POLICEMAN. Not me.

CINDERELLA. If I had that belt for half an hour!

POLICEMAN. What would you use?

CINDERELLA. Spit.

POLICEMAN. Spit? That’s like what my mother would have said. That was in Badgery, where I was born. When I was a boy at Badgery—

CINDERELLA. What’s wrong?

POLICEMAN. How did you manage that about Badgery?

CINDERELLA. What?

POLICEMAN. Take care, prisoner.