Mrs. Farrell, a lean, highly respectable Irish Charwoman of about 50 comes in.

Mitchener.  Mrs. Farrell:  Ive a very important visit to pay:  I shall want my full dress uniform and all my medals and orders and my presentation sword.  There was a time when the British Army contained men capable of discharging these duties for their commanding officer.  Those days are over.  The compulsorily enlisted soldier runs to a woman for everything.  Im therefore reluctantly obliged to trouble you.

Mrs Farrell.  Your meddles n ordhers n the crooked sword with the ivory handle n your full dress uniform is in the waxworks in the Chamber o Military Glory over in the place they used to call the Banquetin Hall.  I told you youd be sorry for sendin them away; n you told me to mind me own business.  Youre wiser now.

Mitchener.  I am.  I had not at that time discovered that you were the only person in the whole military establishment of this capital who could be trusted to remember where anything was, or to understand an order and obey it.

Mrs. Farrell.  Its no good flattherin me.  Im too old.

Mitchener.  Not at all, Mrs. Farrell.  How is your daughter?

Mrs. Farrell.  Which daughther.

Mitchener.  The one who has made such a gratifying success in the
Music Halls.

Mrs. Farrell.  Theres no music halls nowadays:  theyre Variety
Theatres.  Shes got an offer of marriage from a young jook.

Mitchener.  Is it possible?  What did you do?

Mrs. Farrell.  I told his mother on him.

Mitchener.  Oh! what did she say?

Mrs. Farrell.  She was as pleased as Punch.  Thank Heaven, she says, hes got somebody thatll be able to keep him when the supertax is put up to twenty shillings in the pound.

Mitchener.  But your daughter herself?  What did she say?

Mrs. Farrell.  Accepted him, of course.  What else would a young fool like her do?  He inthrojooced her to the Poet Laureate, thinking shed inspire him.

Mitchener.  Did she?

Mrs. Farrell.  Faith I dunna.  All I know is she walked up to him as bold as brass n said “Write me a sketch, dear.”  Afther all the trouble I took with that chills manners shes no more notion how to behave herself than a pig.  Youll have to wear General Sandstones uniform:  its the ony one in the place, because he wont lend it to the shows.

Mitchener.  But Sandstones clothes wont fit me.

Mrs. Farrell (unmoved).  Then youll have to fit them.  Why shouldnt they fitcha as well as they fitted General Blake at the Mansion House?

Mitchener.  They didnt fit him.  He looked a frightful guy.

Mrs. Farrell.  Well, you must do the best you can with them.  You cant exhibit your clothes and wear them too.