ch's One Foundation" on the orgin, rumblin' up
over my 'ead! Well, I . . .

ALL. Yes . . . yes . . .

AUNTIE. Why don't you go on? . . .

ROBERT. You'd never guess wot I saw there, not if you was to try
from now till glory 'allelooyer! . . .

The biggest back-'ander, I ever did 'av', swelp me! . . .

[They hang on his words expectantly.]

IT AIN'T NO DRAIN AT ALL!

ALL [breathlessly]. Why, what is it, then? . . .

ROBERT. IT'S A GRIVE!

ALL. A grave! . . .

ROBERT. Yus, one o' them whoppin' great beer-vaults as you shove
big bugses' corpses inter! What d'yer think o' that now?

MARY. ) Oh! . . .
AUNTIE. ) Horrible! . . .

VICAR. I seem to remember some tradition . . .

ROBERT, You'd 'a' said so if you'd seen wot I seen! Talk abaht
corfins an' shrouds an' bones an' dead men gone to rot, they wasn't
in it, wot I saw dahn there! Madame Twosoes is a flea-bite to it!
Lord!--I never thought there could be such a lot o' muck an' dead
things all in one place before! It was a fair treat, it was, I tek
my oath! . . .

[Rapturously]. Why--why, it may cost a man 'is LIFE to deal with
that little job!

VICAR. My God! The thing's impossible!

ROBERT. Impossible! Means a bit of work, that's all!

VICAR. Why, no one would ever dare . . .

ROBERT. Dare! Why, wot d'you think I come 'ere for? . . .

VICAR. _You_! . . .

ROBERT. Yus--makin' myself unpleasant . . .

VICAR. Do you mean . . . Do I understand . . .

ROBERT. I mean as I've found _my place_, or I don't know a good
thing when I see it!

AUNTIE. What! To go into that dreadful vault, and . . .

ROBERT. Why not: ain't it my job?

AUNTIE. But you said--perhaps--_death_ . . .

ROBERT. It's worth it, it's a lovely bit of work!

VICAR. No, ten thousand times, no! The sacrifice is too much!

ROBERT. You call that sacrifice?--It's fun: not 'arf!

VICAR. I had rather see the church itself . . .

ROBERT. What, you call yourself a clergyman!

VICAR. I call myself nothing: I _am_ nothing--less than nothing in
all this living world!

ROBERT. By God, but I call myself summat--I'M THE _DRAIN-MAN_,
THAT'S WOT I AM!

VICAR [feverishly]. You shall not go! . . .

ROBERT. Why, wot is there to fear? Ain't it worth while, to move
away that load o' muck!

VICAR. The stench--the horror--the darkness . . .

ROBERT. What's it matter, if the comrides up above 'av' light an'
joy an' a breath of 'olesome air to sin