MRS. L. Well; go yu, then, and get a breath o' fresh air in yore chakes. I'll sune 'a feneshed.

L. AIDA. [Solemnly] I'm goin' to be a dancer, I am.

She rushes suddenly to the door, pulls it open, and is gone.

MRS. L. [Looking after her, and talking to herself.] Ah! 'Er've a-got all 'er troubles before 'er! "Little lamb, a made'ee?"

[Cackling] 'Tes a funny world, tu! [She sings to herself.]

"There is a green 'ill far away Without a city wall, Where our dear-Lord was crucified, 'U died to save us all."

The door is opened, and LEMMY comes in; a little man with a stubble of dark moustache and spiky dark hair; large, peculiar eyes he has, and a look of laying his ears back, a look of doubting, of perversity with laughter up the sleeve, that grows on those who have to do with gas and water. He shuts the door.

MRS. L. Well, Bob, I 'aven't a-seen yu this tu weeks.

LEMMY comes up to his mother, and sits down on a stool, sets a tool-bag between his knees, and speaks in a c.o.c.kney voice.

LEMMY. Well, old lydy o' leisure! Wot would y' 'ave for supper, if yer could choose--salmon wivaht the tin, an' tipsy cyke?

MRS. L. [Shaking her head and smiling blandly] That's showy. Toad in the 'ole I'd 'ave--and a gla.s.s o' port wine.

LEMMY. Providential. [He opens a tool-bag] Wot dyer think I've got yer?

MRS. L. I 'ope yu've a-got yureself a job, my son!

LEMMY. [With his peculiar smile] Yus, or I couldn't 'ave afforded yer this. [He takes out a bottle] Not 'arf! This'll put the blood into yer. Pork wine--once in the cellars of the gryte. We'll drink the ryyal family in this.

[He apostrophises the portrait of Queen Victoria.]

MRS. L. Ah! She was a praaper gude queen. I see 'er once, when 'er was bein' burried.

LEMMY. Ryalties--I got nothin' to sy agynst 'em in this country.

But the STYTE 'as got to 'ave its pipes seen to. The 'ole show's goin' up pop. Yer'll wyke up one o' these dyes, old lydy, and find yerself on the roof, wiv nuffin' between yer an' the grahnd.

MRS. L. I can't tell what yu'm talkin' about.

LEMMY. We're goin' to 'ave a triumpherat in this country Liberty, Equality, Fraternity; an' if yer arsk me, they won't be in power six months before they've cut each other's throats. But I don't care--I want to see the blood flow! (Dispa.s.sionately) I don' care 'oose blood it is. I want to see it flow!

MRS. L. [Indulgently] Yu'm a funny boy, that's sartin.

LEMMY. [Carving at the cork with a knife] This 'ere cork is like Sasiety--rotten; it's old--old an' moulderin'. [He holds up a bit of cork on the point of the knife] Crumblin' under the wax, it is. In goes the screw an' out comes the cork. [With unction]--an' the blood flows. [Tipping the bottle, he lets a drop fall into the middle of his hand, and licks it up. Gazing with queer and doubting commiseration at has mother] Well, old dear, wot shall we 'ave it aht of--the gold loving-cup, or--what? 'Ave yer supper fust, though, or it'll go to yer 'ead! [He goes to the cupboard and taken out a disk in which a little bread is sopped in a little' milk] Cold pap!

'Ow can yer? 'Yn't yer got a kipper in the 'ouse?

MRS. L. [Admiring the bottle] Port wine! 'Tis a brave treat! I'll 'ave it out of the "Present from Margitt," Bob. I tuk 'ee therr by excursion when yu was six months. Yu 'ad a shrimp an' it choked yu praaperly. Yu was always a squeamy little feller. I can't never think 'ow yu managed in the war-time, makin' they sh.e.l.ls.

LEMMY, who has brought to the table two mugs and blown the duet out of; them, fills them with port, and hands one to his mother, who is eating her bread and milk.

LEMMY. Ah! Nothin' worried me, 'cept the want o' soap.

MRS. L. [Cackling gently] So it du still, then! Luke at yore face.

Yu never was a clean boy, like Jim.

[She puts out a thin finger and touches his cheek, whereon is a black smudge.]

LEMMY. [Scrubbing his cheek with his sleeve.] All right! Y'see, I come stryte 'ere, to get rid o' this.

[He drinks.]

MRS. L. [Eating her bread and milk] Tes a pity yu'm not got a wife to see't yu wash yureself.

LEMMY. [Goggling] Wife! Not me--I daon't want ter myke no food for pahder. Wot oh!--they said, time o' the war--ye're fightin' for yer children's 'eritage. Well; wot's the 'eritage like, now we've got it? Empty as a sh.e.l.l before yer put the 'igh explosive in. Wot's it like? [Warming to his theme] Like a prophecy in the pypers--not a bit more substantial.

MRS. L. [Slightly hypnotised] How 'e du talk! The gas goes to yore 'ead, I think!

LEMMY. I did the gas to-dy in the cellars of an 'ouse where the wine was mountains 'igh. A regiment couldn't 'a drunk it. Marble pillars in the 'all, butler broad as an observytion balloon, an' four conscientious khaki footmen. When the guns was roarin' the talk was all for no more o' them glorious weeds-style an' luxury was orf. See wot it is naow. You've got a bare crust in the cupboard 'ere, I works from 'and to mouth in a glutted market--an' there they stand abaht agyne in their britches in the 'oases o' the gryte. I was reg'lar overcome by it. I left a thing in that cellar--I left a thing . . . . It'll be a bit ork'ard for me to-mower. [Drinks from his mug.]

MRS. L. [Placidly, feeling the warmth of the little she has drunk]

What thing?

LEMMY. Wot thing? Old lydy, ye're like a winkle afore yer opens 'er--I never see anything so peaceful. 'Ow dyer manage it?

MRS. L. Settin' 'ere and thenkin'.

LEA. Wot abaht?

MRS. L. We-el--Money, an' the works o' G.o.d.

LEMMY. Ah! So yer give me a thought sometimes.

MRS. L. [Lofting her mug] Yu ought never to ha' spent yore money on this, Bob!

LEMMY. I thought that meself.

MRS. L. Last time I 'ad a gla.s.s o' port wine was the day yore brother Jim went to Ameriky. [Smacking her lips] For a teetotal drink, it du warm 'ee!

LEMMY. [Raising his mug] Well, 'ere's to the British revolution!

'Ere's to the conflygrytion in the sky!

MRS. L. [Comfortably] So as to kape up therr, 'twon't du no 'arm.

LEMMY goes to the window and unhooks his fiddle; he stands with it halfway to his shoulder. Suddenly he opens the window and leans out. A confused murmur of voices is heard; and a s.n.a.t.c.h of the Ma.r.s.eillaise, sung by a girl. Then the shuffling tramp of feet, and figures are pa.s.sing in the street.

LEMMY. [Turning--excited] Wot'd I tell yer, old lydy? There it is --there it is!

MRS. L. [Placidly] What is?

LEMMY. The revolution. [He cranes out] They've got it on a barrer.

Cheerio!

VOICE. [Answering] Cheerio!