ROGERS.  Yes, sir; and what’s more, Mr. Manson told me to bring ’im in!

VICAR.  Well, why don’t you?

ROGERS.  ’E’s mucked up to the eyes, sir!  Bin down the drains! It’s the same chap as come an’ made so free ’ere this mornin’!

[There is a general rapturous excitement.]

VICAR.  Praise God!  Shew him in at once!

ROGERS [flabbergasted].  What!  In ’ere, sir? . . .

VICAR.  Come, come, come!

[ROGERS’S cosmos is fast slipping away:  he crawls abjectly to the door:  his hand on the knob, he turns once more a face of bewildered inquiry upon the VICAR, who snaps his fingers impatiently.]

ROGERS [with a sickly smile].  ’E’s just outside, sir.

[Opening the door, he whines.]

Oh, do come in.

[ROBERT enters, amply fulfilling the lad’s description.  The latter lags out, nauseated with the world.]

[ROBERT stands up stage, in the middle:  AUNTIE and VICAR, down stage, one on either side.  MARY with her aunt.]

ROBERT.  Can I be ’eard civil in this ’ouse, if I speak a few words?

[They make a movement as towards him.]

’Old back!  Don’t you come near me!  Don’t you so much as speak till I’ve done! . . .

[To Auntie and Vicar respectively].  You don’t know me:  you don’t know me . . .  Understand?

There’s no one ‘ere as knows oo I am, excep’ one little gel—­’er over there.  Now, keep quiet!  ’Ere! . . .

[MARY goes up to him.]

Tell ’em oo I am.

MARY.  Why, it’s my friend—­the man I was telling you about!  The man who looks after the drains!

ROBERT.  That’s about it:  I’m the drain-man, see?  Thought you might be mistakin’ me for—­summat else, if you wasn’t told.  Now you know.

[MARY’S face, as she returns, bears the first dawn of an idea.  The VICAR lifts a hand of warning to AUNTIE.]

VICAR.  Go on.

ROBERT.  That’s what I come ’ere to talk abaht—­my job.  P’r’aps you’ll think as it ain’t a tasty subjic, before a lot o’ nice, clean, respectable people as never ‘ad anythin’ worse on their fingers than a bit of lawn-dirt, playin’ crokey; but some one ’as to see to the drains, some one ’as to clear up the muck of the world!  I’m the one.

An’ I’m ’ere to tell you about it.

AUNTIE [involuntarily].  Oh! . . .

ROBERT.  You don’t like that, ma’am?  ’Urts your feelin’s, eh?

AUNTIE.  Yes; but not in the way you mean,

MARY.  But you know, you really are a little unpleasant!

ROBERT.  I’m not ’ere to be pleasant, young leddy:  I’m ’ere to edicate you.

VICAR.  Yes, I think I see!

AUNTIE [breathlessly].  Go on:  go on!