[Smiling] “Yore old fengers’ll ‘ave a rest.  Think o’ that!” I says.  “‘Twill be a brave change.”  I can see myself lyin’ there an’ duin’ nothin’.

     [Again a pause, while Mrs. Lemmy sees herself doing nothing.]

Lemmy.  Tell abaht Jim; old lydy.

Mrs. L. My son Jim ‘ad a family o’ seven in six years.  “I don’ know ’ow ’tes, Mother,” ’e used to say to me; “they just sim to come!” That was Jim—­never knu from day to day what was cumin’.  “Therr’s another of ’em dead,” ’e used to say, “’tes funny, tu” “Well,” I used to say to ‘im; “no wonder, poor little things, livin’ in they model dwellin’s.  Therr’s no air for ’em,” I used to say.  “Well,” ’e used to say, “what can I du, Mother?  Can’t afford to live in Park Lane:”  An’ ‘e take an’ went to Ameriky. [Her voice for the first time is truly doleful] An’ never came back.  Fine feller.  So that’s my four sons—­One’s dead, an’ one’s in—­That, an’ one’s in Ameriky, an’ Bob ’ere, poor boy, ’e always was a talker.

     [Lemmy, who has re-seated himself in the window and taken up his
     fiddle, twangs the strings.]

Press.  And now a few words about your work, Mrs. Lemmy?

Mrs. L. Well, I sews.

Press. [Writing] “Sews.”  Yes?

Mrs. L. [Holding up her unfinished pair of trousers] I putt in the button’oles, I stretches the flies, I lines the crutch, I putt on this bindin’, [She holds up the calico that binds the top] I sews on the buttons, I press the seams—­Tuppence three farthin’s the pair.

Press.  Twopence three farthings a pair!  Worse than a penny a line!

Mrs. L. In a gude day I gets thru four pairs, but they’m gettin’ plaguey ’ard for my old fengers.

Press. [Writing] “A monumental figure, on whose labour is built the mighty edifice of our industrialism.”

Lemmy.  I sy—­that’s good.  Yer’ll keep that, won’t yet?

Mrs. L. I finds me own cotton, tuppence three farthin’s, and other expension is a penny three farthin’s.

Press.  And are you an exception, Mrs. Lemmy?

Mrs. L. What’s that?

Lemmy.  Wot price the uvvers, old lydy?  Is there a lot of yer sewin’ yer fingers orf at tuppence ’ypenny the pair?

Mrs. L. I can’t tell yu that.  I never sees nothin’ in ’ere.  I pays a penny to that little gell to bring me a dozen pair an’ fetch ’em back.  Poor little thing, she’m ’ardly strong enough to carry ’em.  Feel!  They’m very ’eavy!

Press.  On the conscience of Society!

Lemmy.  I sy put that dahn, won’t yer?

Press.  Have things changed much since the war, Mrs. Lemmy?

Mrs. L. Cotton’s a lot dearer.

Press.  All round, I mean.

Mrs. L. Aw!  Yu don’ never get no change, not in my profession. [She oscillates the trousers] I’ve a-been in trousers fifteen year; ever since I got to old for laundry.