, one on either side. MARY with her aunt.]

ROBERT. Can I be 'eard civil in this 'ouse, if I speak a few words?

[They make a movement as towards him.]

'Old back! Don't you come near me! Don't you so much as speak
till I've done! . . .

[To Auntie and Vicar respectively]. You don't know me: you don't
know me . . . Understand?

There's no one 'ere as knows oo I am, excep' one little gel--'er
over there. Now, keep quiet! 'Ere! . . .

[MARY goes up to him.]

Tell 'em oo I am.

MARY. Why, it's my friend--the man I was telling you about! The
man who looks after the drains!

ROBERT. That's about it: I'm the drain-man, _see_? Thought you
might be mistakin' me for--summat else, if you wasn't told. Now
you know.

[MARY'S face, as she returns, bears the first dawn of an idea. The
VICAR lifts a hand of warning to AUNTIE.]

VICAR. Go on.

ROBERT. That's what I come 'ere to talk abaht--my job. P'r'aps
you'll think as it ain't a tasty subjic, before a lot o' nice,
clean, respectable people as never 'ad anythin' worse on their
fingers than a bit of lawn-dirt, playin' crokey; but _some one_ 'as
to see to the drains, _some one_ 'as to clear up the muck of the
world! I'm the one.

An' I'm 'ere to tell you about it.

AUNTIE [involuntarily]. Oh! . . .

ROBERT. You don't like that, ma'am? 'Urts your feelin's, eh?

AUNTIE. Yes; but not in the way you mean,

MARY. But you know, you really are a little unpleasant!

ROBERT. I'm not 'ere to be pleasant, young leddy: I'm 'ere to
edicate you.

VICAR. Yes, I think I see!

AUNTIE [breathlessly]. Go on: go on!

ROBERT. Well, I come to this 'ouse this mornin', I don't mind
ownin' it, in a rotten bad frame of mind: I 'ad a little job on
'and--a job a bit above my 'ead, an' it got me dahn an' worried me:
yus it did--worried me. That young leddy 'll tell you wot I was
like when _she_ fust saw me: I looked that bad, she thought I come
to steal summat! Well, p'r'aps I did, arter al!--summat as I 'ad
no right to, summat as don't properly belong to a streaky swine
like me. That was when _she_ fust saw me; but I was wuss before
that, I tell you strite!

MARY [self-consciously]. What changed you?

ROBERT. A bloke I met, miss, as knowed me better than I knowed
myself. 'E changed me.

AUNTIE. ) Manson! . . .
VICAR. ) Manson! . . .
MARY. ) Oh, I thought, perhaps . . .

ROBERT. Don't know 'is name; 'e was a fair knock-aht-- Got togs
on