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.]