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’ God.

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 glass 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 snatch of the Marseillaise, sung by a girl.  Then the shuffling tramp of feet, and figures are passing 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!

Lemmy. [Leaning out] I sy—­you ‘yn’t tykin’ the body, are yer?

Voice.  Nao.

Lemmy.  Did she die o’ starvytion O.K.?

Voice.  She bloomin’ well did; I know ’er brother.

Lemmy.  Ah!  That’ll do us a bit o’ good!

Voice.  Cheerio!

Lemmy.  So long!

Voice.  So long!

     [The girl’s voice is heard again in the distance singing the
     Marseillaise.  The door is flung open and little Aida comes
     running in again.]