The church clock strikes the first quarter.

The daughter [in the space between the central pillars, close to the one on her left] I’m getting chilled to the bone.  What can Freddy be doing all this time?  He’s been gone twenty minutes.

The mother [on her daughter’s right] Not so long.  But he ought to have got us a cab by this.

A bystander [on the lady’s right] He won’t get no cab not until half-past eleven, missus, when they come back after dropping their theatre fares.

The mother.  But we must have a cab.  We can’t stand here until half-past eleven.  It’s too bad.

The bystander.  Well, it ain’t my fault, missus.

The daughter.  If Freddy had a bit of gumption, he would have got one at the theatre door.

The mother.  What could he have done, poor boy?

The daughter.  Other people got cabs.  Why couldn’t he?

Freddy rushes in out of the rain from the Southampton Street side, and comes between them closing a dripping umbrella.  He is a young man of twenty, in evening dress, very wet around the ankles.

The daughter.  Well, haven’t you got a cab?

Freddy.  There’s not one to be had for love or money.

The mother.  Oh, Freddy, there must be one.  You can’t have tried.

The daughter.  It’s too tiresome.  Do you expect us to go and get one ourselves?

Freddy.  I tell you they’re all engaged.  The rain was so sudden:  nobody was prepared; and everybody had to take a cab.  I’ve been to Charing Cross one way and nearly to Ludgate Circus the other; and they were all engaged.

The mother.  Did you try Trafalgar Square?

Freddy.  There wasn’t one at Trafalgar Square.

The daughter.  Did you try?

Freddy.  I tried as far as Charing Cross Station.  Did you expect me to walk to Hammersmith?

The daughter.  You haven’t tried at all.

The mother.  You really are very helpless, Freddy.  Go again; and don’t come back until you have found a cab.

Freddy.  I shall simply get soaked for nothing.

The daughter.  And what about us?  Are we to stay here all night in this draught, with next to nothing on.  You selfish pig—­

Freddy.  Oh, very well:  I’ll go, I’ll go. [He opens his umbrella and dashes off Strandwards, but comes into collision with a flower girl, who is hurrying in for shelter, knocking her basket out of her hands.  A blinding flash of lightning, followed instantly by a rattling peal of thunder, orchestrates the incident]

The flower girl.  Nah then, Freddy:  look wh’ y’ gowin, deah.

Freddy.  Sorry [he rushes off].