[He plays the old tune on his fiddle.]

Mrs. L. [Singing] “Boys an’ Gells come out to play.  The mune is shinin’ bright as day.” [She laughs] I used to sing like a lark when I was a gell.

     [Little Aida enters.]

L. Aida.  There’s ‘undreds follerin’ the corfin.  ‘Yn’t you goin’, Mr. Lemmy—­it’s dahn your wy!

Lemmy. [Dubiously] Well yus—­I s’pose they’ll miss me.

L. Aida.  Aoh!  Tyke me!

Press.  What’s this?

Lemmy.  The revolution in ’Yde Pawk.

Press. [Struck] In Hyde Park?  The very thing.  I’ll take you down. 
My taxi’s waiting.

L. Aida.  Yus; it’s breathin’ ’ard, at the corner.

Press. [Looking at his watch] Ah! and Mrs. Lemmy.  There’s an Anti-Sweating Meeting going on at a house in Park Lane.  We can get there in twenty minutes if we shove along.  I want you to tell them about the trouser-making.  You’ll be a sensation!

Lemmy. [To himself] Sensytion!  ’E cawn’t keep orf it!

Mrs. L. Anti-Sweat.  Poor fellers!  I ’ad one come to see we before the war, an’ they’m still goin’ on?  Wonderful, an’t it?

Press.  Come, Mrs. Lemmy; drive in a taxi, beautiful moonlit night; and they’ll give you a splendid cup of tea.

Mrs. L. [Unmoved] Ah!  I cudn’t never du without my tea.  There’s not an avenin’ but I thinks to meself:  Now, me dear, yu’ve a-got one more to fennish, an’ then yu’ll ‘eve yore cup o’ tea.  Thank you for callin’, all the same.

Lemmy.  Better siccumb to the temptytion, old lydy; joyride wiv the Press; marble floors, pillars o’ gold; conscientious footmen; lovely lydies; scuppers runnin’ tea!  An’ the revolution goin’ on across the wy.  ’Eaven’s nuffink to Pawk Lyne.

Press.  Come along, Mrs. Lemmy!

Mrs. L. [Seraphically] Thank yu,—­I’m a-feelin’ very comfortable. 
‘Tes wonderful what a drop o’ wine’ll du for the stomach.

Press.  A taxi-ride!

Mrs. L. [Placidly] Ah!  I know’em.  They’m very busy things.

Lemmy.  Muvver shuns notority. [Sotto voce to the press] But you watch me!  I’ll rouse ’er.

[He takes up his fiddle and sits on the window seat.  Above the little houses on the opposite side of the street, the moon has risen in the dark blue sky, so that the cloud shaped like a beast seems leaping over it.  Lemmy plays the first notes of the Marseillaise.  A black cat on the window-sill outside looks in, hunching its back.  Little Aida barks at her.  Mrs. Lemmy struggles to her feet, sweeping the empty dish and spoon to the floor in the effort.]

The dish ran awy wiv the spoon!  That’s right, old lydy! [He stops playing.]