the people! I tell yer the foundytions is rotten. [He empties the bottle into his mother's mug] Daon't mind the mud at the bottom, old lydy--it's all strengthenin'! You tell the Press, Muvver. She can talk abaht the pawst.

PRESS. [Taking up his note-book, and becoming, again his professional self] Yes, Mrs. Lemmy? "Age and Youth--Past and Present--"

MRS. L. Were yu talkin' about Fred? [The port has warmed her veins, the colour in her eyes and cheeks has deepened] My son Fred was always a gude boy--never did nothin' before 'e married. I can see Fred [She bends forward a little in her chair, looking straight before her] acomin' in wi' a pheasant 'e'd found--terrible 'e was at findin' pheasants. When father died, an' yu was c.u.min', Bob, Fred 'e said to me: "Don't yu never cry, Mother, I'll look after 'ee." An'

so 'e did, till 'e married that day six months an' take to the drink in sower. 'E wasn't never 'the same boy again--not Fred. An' now 'e's in That. I can see poor Fred----

[She slowly wipes a tear out of the corner of an eye with the back of her finger.]

PRESS. [Puzzled] In--That?

LEMMY. [Sotto voce] Come orf it! Prison! 'S wot she calls it.

MRS. L. [Cheerful] They say life's a vale o' sorrows. Well, so 'tes, but don' du to let yureself thenk so.

PRESS. And so you came to London, Mrs. Lemmy?

MRS. L. Same year as father died. With the four o' them--that's my son Fred, an' my son Jim, an' my son Tom, an' Alice. Bob there, 'e was born in London--an' a praaper time I 'ad of et.

PRESS. [Writing] "Her heroic struggles with poverty----"

MRS. L. Worked in a laundry, I ded, at fifteen sh.e.l.lin's a week, an'

brought 'em all up on et till Alice 'ad the gallopin' consumption. I can see poor Alice wi' the little red spots is 'er cheeks---an' I not knowin' wot to du wi' 'her--but I always kept up their buryin' money.

Funerals is very dear; Mr. Lemmy was six pound, ten.

PRESS. "High price of Mr. Lemmy."

MRS. L. I've a-got the money for when my time come; never touch et, no matter 'ow things are. Better a little goin' short here below, an' enter the kingdom of 'eaven independent:

PRESS. [Writing] "Death before dishonour--heroine of the slums.

d.i.c.kens--Betty Higden."

MRS. L. No, sir. Mary Lemmy. I've seen a-many die, I 'ave; an' not one grievin'. I often says to meself: [With a little laugh] "Me dear, when yu go, yu go 'appy. Don' yu never fret about that," I says. An' so I will; I'll go 'appy.

[She stays quite still a moment, and behind her LEMMY draws one finger across his face.]

[Smiling] "Yore old fengers'll 'ave a rest. Think o' that!" I says.

"'Twill be a brave change." I can see myself lyin' there an' duin'

nothin'.

[Again a pause, while MRS. LEMMY sees herself doing nothing.]

LEMMY. Tell abaht Jim; old lydy.

MRS. L. My son Jim 'ad a family o' seven in six years. "I don' know 'ow 'tes, Mother," 'e used to say to me; "they just sim to come!"

That was Jim--never knu from day to day what was c.u.min'. "Therr's another of 'em dead," 'e used to say, "'tes funny, tu" "Well," I used to say to 'im; "no wonder, poor little things, livin' in they model dwellin's. Therr's no air for 'em," I used to say. "Well," 'e used to say, "what can I du, Mother? Can't afford to live in Park Lane:" An' 'e take an' went to Ameriky. [Her voice for the first time is truly doleful] An' never came back. Fine feller. So that's my four sons--One's dead, an' one's in--That, an' one's in Ameriky, an' Bob 'ere, poor boy, 'e always was a talker.

[LEMMY, who has re-seated himself in the window and taken up his fiddle, tw.a.n.gs the strings.]

PRESS. And now a few words about your work, Mrs. Lemmy?

MRS. L. Well, I sews.

PRESS. [Writing] "Sews." Yes?

MRS. L. [Holding up her unfinished pair of trousers] I putt in the b.u.t.ton'oles, I stretches the flies, I lines the crutch, I putt on this bindin', [She holds up the calico that binds the top] I sews on the b.u.t.tons, I press the seams--Tuppence three farthin's the pair.

PRESS. Twopence three farthings a pair! Worse than a penny a line!

MRS. L. In a gude day I gets thru four pairs, but they'm gettin'

plaguey 'ard for my old fengers.

PRESS. [Writing] "A monumental figure, on whose labour is built the mighty edifice of our industrialism."

LEMMY. I sy--that's good. Yer'll keep that, won't yet?

MRS. L. I finds me own cotton, tuppence three farthin's, and other expension is a penny three farthin's.

PRESS. And are you an exception, Mrs. Lemmy?

MRS. L. What's that?

LEMMY. Wot price the uvvers, old lydy? Is there a lot of yer sewin'

yer fingers orf at tuppence 'ypenny the pair?

MRS. L. I can't tell yu that. I never sees nothin' in 'ere. I pays a penny to that little gell to bring me a dozen pair an' fetch 'em back. Poor little thing, she'm 'ardly strong enough to carry 'em.

Feel! They'm very 'eavy!

PRESS. On the conscience of Society!

LEMMY. I sy put that dahn, won't yer?

PRESS. Have things changed much since the war, Mrs. Lemmy?

MRS. L. Cotton's a lot dearer.

PRESS. All round, I mean.

MRS. L. Aw! Yu don' never get no change, not in my profession.

[She oscillates the trousers] I've a-been in trousers fifteen year; ever since I got to old for laundry.

PRESS. [Writing] "For fifteen years sewn trousers." What would a good week be, Mrs. Lemmy?

MRS. L. 'Tes a very gude week, five sh.e.l.lin's.

LEMMY. [From the window] Bloomin' millionairess, Muvver. She's lookin' forward to 'eaven, where vey don't wear no trahsers.

MRS. L. [With spirit] 'Tidn for me to zay whether they du. An'

'tes on'y when I'm a bit low-sperrity-like as I wants to go therr.

What I am a-lukin' forward to, though, 'tes a day in the country.