MARY. [Taking an old newspaper from the trunk.] Here, Joe.

JOE.  That will help to build up a fire. [He glances at it, then lays it carefully underneath the wood. MARY gets lamp from table.] The Daily Something or other—­that tells the world what a happy people we are—­how proud of belonging to an Empire on which the sun never sets.  And I’d sell Gibraltar to-night for a sausage with mashed potatoes; and let Russia take India if some one would give me a clerkship at a pound a week.—­There, in you go!  A match, Mary?

MARY. [Standing above JOE, handing him one.] Ok Joe, be careful—­we’ve only two left!

JOE.  I’ll be careful.  Wait, though—­I’ll see whether there’s a bit of tobacco still in my pipe. [He fishes the pipe out of his pocket.] A policeman who warned me away from the kerb gave me some tobacco.  “Mustn’t beg,” he said.  “Got a pipe?  Well, here’s some tobacco.”  I believe he’d have given me money.  But it was the first kind word I had heard all day, and it choked me.—­There’s just a bit left at the bottom. [He bustles.] Now, first the fire. [He puts the match to the paper—­it kindles.] And then my pipe. [The fire burns up; he throws himself in front of it.] Boo-o-oh, I’m sizzling....  I got so wet that I felt the water running into my lungs—­my feet didn’t seem to belong to me—­and as for my head and nose! [Yawns.] Well, smoke’s good—­by the powers, I’m getting warm—­come closer to it, Mary.  It’s a little after midnight now—­and I left home, this fine, luxurious British home, just as soon as it was light.  And I’ve tramped the streets all day.  Net result, a policeman gave me a pipeful of tobacco, I lunched off a bit of bread that I saw floating down the gutter—­and I dined off the kitchen smell of the Cafe Royal.  That’s my day.

MARY. [Stroking his hand.] Poor boy, poor boy!

JOE.  I stood for an hour in Leicester Square when the theatres emptied, thinking I might earn a copper, calling a cab, or something.  There they were, all streaming out, happy and clean and warm—­broughams and motor-cars—­supper at the Savoy and the Carlton—­and a hundred or two of us others in the gutter, hungry—­looking at them.  They went off to their supper—­it was pouring, and I got soaked—­and there I stood, dodging the policemen, dodging the horses’ heads and the motors—­and it was always—­get away, you loafer, get away—­get away—­get away—­

MARY.  We’ve done nothing to deserve it, Joe—­

JOE. [With sudden fury.] Deserve it!  What have I ever done wrong!  Wasn’t my fault the firm went bankrupt and I couldn’t get another job.  I’ve a first-rate character—­I’m respectable—­what’s the use?  I want to work—­they won’t let me!

MARY.  That illness of mine ate up all our savings.  O Joe, I wish I had died!

JOE.  And left me alone?  That’s not kind of you, Mary.  How about Mrs. Willis?  Is she worrying about the rent?