'Tailor!' screamed a third.

'Barber's clerk!' shouted a fourth.
'Throw him O--VER!' roared a fifth; while numerous voices concurred in desiring Mr.Thomas Potter to 'go home to his mother!' All these taunts Mr.Thomas Potter received with supreme contempt, cocking the low-crowned hat a little more on one side, whenever any reference was made to his personal appearance, and, standing up with his arms a-kimbo, expressing defiance melodramatically.
The overture--to which these various sounds had been an _ad libitum_ accompaniment--concluded, the second piece began, and Mr.Thomas Potter, emboldened by impunity, proceeded to behave in a most unprecedented and outrageous manner.

First of all, he imitated the shake of the principal female singer; then, groaned at the blue fire; then, affected to be frightened into convulsions of terror at the appearance of the ghost; and, lastly, not only made a running commentary, in an audible voice, upon the dialogue on the stage, but actually awoke Mr.Robert Smithers, who, hearing his companion making a noise, and having a very indistinct notion where he was, or what was required of him, immediately, by way of imitating a good example, set up the most unearthly, unremitting, and appalling howling that ever audience heard.

It was too much.

'Turn them out!' was the general cry.