id="id00468">MANSON. I know that.

ROBERT. Then let me be, I tell yer! You tek all the taste out o' my sossingers.

MANSON. I should like to hear about her, comrade.

ROBERT. You cawn't bring 'er back. She's dead.

MANSON. What was her name?

ROBERT. Mary—same as the little gel's.

MANSON. I wonder whether they are anything alike.

ROBERT. That's wot I come to see! . . .

She 'ad 'er mother's nose when she was a biby—and 'er eyes!
Gorstrike, she was the very spit—far as a biby could be! . . .

Swelp me Moses, if I find 'er anything like Bill's ole geezer, I'll cut 'er throat!

MANSON. And if she's like her mother? What then?

ROBERT. Why, then . . . there's allus my own. I nearly did it once.

MANSON [after a pause]. How did you come to lose her?

ROBERT [roughly]. Never you mind!

MANSON. How did you come to lose her?

ROBERT [sullenly]. Typhoid fever.

[MANSON notes the evasion with a glance. He helps ROBERT to more tea, and waits for him to speak. ROBERT wriggles under his gaze, and at last he says, reluctantly.]

Oh, it was my own fault, as I lost the kid!

MANSON. That was a sore loss, comrade.

ROBERT. I know it! Needn't rub it in! . . . Look, 'ere, comride, I 'adn't a bad nature to begin with. Didn't me an' my brother Joshua pinch an' slave the skin orf our bones to send that spotted swine to school? Didn't we 'elp 'im out with 'is books an' 'is mortar-boards an' 'is bits of clothes to try an' mek 'im look respectable? That's wot we did, till 'e got 'is lousy scholyships, an' run away to get spliced with that she-male pup of a blood-'ound! Cos why? Cos we was proud of the little perisher!—proud of 'is 'ead-piece! We 'adn't gone none ourselves—leastways, I 'adn't: Joshua was different to me; and now . . .

MANSON. And your brother Joshua: what of him? Where is he now?

ROBERT. I don't know—gone to pot, like me! P'r'aps eatin' is bleedin' 'eart out, same as I am, at the base ingratitood of the world!

MANSON. Perhaps so!

ROBERT. Where was I? You mek me lose my air, shoving in with your bit!

MANSON. You were saying that you hadn't a bad nature to begin with.

ROBERT [truculently]. No more I 'adn't! . . .

O' course, when she took an'—an' died, things was different: I couldn't 'old up the same— Somehow, I don't know, I lost my 'eart, and . . .

MANSON. Yes? . . .

ROBERT. That's 'ow I come to lose my kid, my little kid . . . Mind you, that was fifteen years ago: I was a rotter then, same as you might be. I wasn't 'arf the man I am now . . .

You can larf! A man can change a lot in fifteen years!

MANSON. I didn't laugh.

ROBERT. Do you want to know wot's come over me since then? I work—and work well: that's more than some of 'em can say— And I don't get much money for it, either! That ought to mek 'em feel ashamed! I'm not the drunkard I was—not by 'arf! If I'm bitter, oo's made me bitter? You cawn't be very sweet and perlite on eighteen bob a week—when yer get it! I'll tell yer summat else: I've eddicated myself since then—I'm not the gory fool I was— And they know it! They can't come playin' the 'anky with us, same as they used to! It's Nice Mister Working-man This and Nice Mister Working-man That, will yer be so 'ighly hobliging as to 'and over your dear little voting-paper—you poor, sweet, muddy-nosed old Idiot, as can't spot your natural enemy when yer see 'im! That orter mek some on 'em sit up!

Fifteen years ago me an' my like 'adn't got a religion! By Gawd, we 'av' one now! Like to 'ear wot it is?

MANSON. Yes.

ROBERT. SOCIALISM! Funny, ain't it?

MANSON. I don't think so. It's mine, too.

ROBERT. I believe in fighting with my clarss!

MANSON. Oh, against whom?

ROBERT. Why, agin all the other clarsses—curse 'em!

MANSON. Isn't that a bit of the old Robert left, comrade?

ROBERT. Oh, leave me alone. I cawn't be allus pickin' an' choosin' my words! I ain't no scholar—thank Gawd!

MANSON. All the same, I'm right, eh, comrade? Comrade . . .

ROBERT [grudgingly]. Well, yus! [Savagely.] Yus, I tell yer! Cawn't a bloke speak 'otter than 'e means without you scrapin' at 'is innards?

[Exploding again.] Wait till I set eyes on that bleedin' brother of mine again, that's all!

MANSON. Which bleeding brother?

ROBERT [with a thumb-jerk]. Why, 'im, o' course! [Sneering.] The Reverend William! 'Im as you said was damned! . . . Allus did 'ate parsons! I 'ates the sight of their 'arf-baked, silly mugs!

[There is a very loud Ringing of the Bell.]

'Ello! 'Ello! Did I mek a row like that?

MANSON. You tried, didn't you?

ROBERT. So I did, not 'arf! Thought if I kicked up an 'ell of a shindy they'd think some big bug was comin'; and then when they'd be all smiles an' bowin' an' scrapin', in pops me, real low!

[ROGERS enters. On seeing them at the table, he is apparently troubled with his inside.]

ROGERS. Oh, my 'oly Evings!

MANSON. Who is it, Rogers?

ROGERS [awed]. It's the Bishop of Lancashire!

MANSON [imperturbably]. Shew him in, Rogers.

ROGERS. Beg pardon, Mr. Manson . . .

MANSON. I said, shew him in.

Quick, Rogers. Keep a bishop waiting!

ROGERS. Well, I'm jiggered!

[He is; and goes out.]

ROBERT. 'Ere! Did 'e say bishop?

MANSON. Yes.

ROBERT. Comin' 'ere? Now?

[MANSON nods his head to each inquiry.]

Well, I ain't agoin' ter leave my sossingers, not if 'e was a bloomin' archangel, see!

[ROGERS, still jiggered, ushers in JAMES PONSONBY MAKESHYFTE, D.D., the Most Reverend the Lord Bishop of Lancashire. He looks his name, his goggles and ear-trumpet lending a beautiful perfection to the resemblance.]

[MANSON has risen: ROBERT, imperturbable, discusses sossingers:
ROGERS, with a last excruciation of his ailment, vanishes.]

[The Most Reverend Father in God stands blinking for recognition. Pained at the non-fulfilment of this worthy expectation, he moves—a little blindly—towards the table. Here he encounters the oppugnant back of the voracious ROBERT, who grows quite annoyed. Indeed, be as good as says so.]

'Ere, where ye comin' to?

BISHOP [peering closely into his face, the other edging away]. Ah!
Mr. Smythe, or I am mistaken.

ROBERT. Smith's my name! Don't you call me Smythe!

BISHOP. My dear sir, don't mention it: my sister has explained everything. I bear you no grudge—none whatever!

ROBERT. What's the silly ole josser jawin' abaht now?

BISHOP. But I perceive that I have—er—[sniffing] disturbed you at your morning meal . . .

ROBERT [with conviction]. You 'av' that!