Press. [Smiling] Well, Mr. Lemmy, it has the biggest influ——­

Lemmy.  They all ’as that; dylies, weeklies, evenin’s, Sundyes; but it’s of no consequence—­my voos are open and aboveboard.  Naow, wot shall we begin abaht?

Press.  Yourself, if you please.  And I’d like you to know at once that my paper wants the human note, the real heart-beat of things.

Lemmy.  I see; sensytion!  Well; ’ere am I—­a fustclawss plumber’s. assistant—­in a job to-dy an’ out tomorrer.  There’s a ’eart-beat in that, I tell yer.  ’Oo knows wot the mower ’as for me!

Press. [Writing].  “The great human issue—­Mr. Lemmy touches it at once.”

Lemmy.  I sy keep my nyme aht o’ this; I don’ go in fer self-advertisement.

Press. [Writing] “True working-man—­modest as usual.”

Lemmy.  I daon’t want to embarrass the Gover’ment.  They’re so ticklish ever since they got the ‘abit, war-time, o’ mindin’ wot people said.

Press.  Right-o!

Lemmy.  For instance, suppose there’s goin’ to be a revolution——­ [the press writes with energy.] ’Ow does it touch me?  Like this:  I my go up—­I cawn’t come dahn; no more can Muvver.

Mrs. L. [Surprisingly] Us all goes down into the grave.

Press.  “Mrs. Lemmy interjects the deeper note.”

Lemmy.  Naow, the gryte—­they can come dahn, but they cawn’t go up!  See!  Put two an’ two together, an’ that’s ’ow it touches me. [He utters a throaty laugh] ’Ave yer got that?

Press. [Quizzical] Not go up?  What about bombs, Mr. Lemmy?

Lemmy. [Dubious] Wot abaht ’em?  I s’pose ye’re on the comic pypers?  ’Ave yer noticed wot a weakness they ’ave for the ’orrible?

Press. [Writing] “A grim humour peeped out here and there through the earnestness of his talk.”

     [He sketches Lemmy’s profile.]

Lemmy.  We ‘ad an explosion in my factory time o’ the war, that would just ha’ done for you comics. [He meditates] Lord!  They was after it too,—­they an’ the Sundyes; but the Censor did ’em.  Strike me, I could tell yer things!

Press.  That’s what I want, Mr. Lemmy; tell me things!

Lemmy. [Musing] It’s a funny world, ’yn’t it?  ’Ow we did blow each other up! [Getting up to admire] I sy, I shall be syfe there.  That won’t betry me anonymiety.  Why!  I looks like the Prime Minister!

Press. [Rather hurt] You were going to tell me things.

Lemmy.  Yus, an’ they’ll be the troof, too.

Press.  I hope so; we don’t——­

Lemmy.  Wot oh!

Press. [A little confused.] We always try to verify——­

Lemmy.  Yer leave it at tryin’, daon’t yer?  Never, mind, ye’re a gryte institootion.  Blimy, yer do have jokes, wiv it, spinnin’ rahnd on yer own tyles, denyin’ to-dy wot ye’re goin’ to print to-morrer.  Ah, well!  Ye’re like all of us below the line o’ comfort—­live dyngerously—­ever’ dy yer last.  That’s wy I’m interested in the future.