ompleted his inspection of the other's
face and costume, moves away with a characteristic interjection.

ROBERT. Oh, Jeeroosalem! . . .

'Ere, 'elp us orf, comride: I'm wet through. Rainin' cats an'
dorgs dahn at the Junction! 'Ere, I cawn't . . . Wot oh! The
very identical! . . .

[MANSON has helped him off with his coat, and now hands him the
cassock.]

[Getting into it.] Don't know oo you are, ole pal, but you're a
bit of orl right! . . . Don't I look a corf-drop? 'Ere, where ye
teking it to? . . .

[He watches MANSON suspiciously as he places his coat before the
fire to dry.]

Bit 'andy, ain't yer? . . .

So this is where 'e lives! A bloomin' palace, as never I did
see! . . .

[MANSON prepares a place for him at the table, and pours out a cup
of tea, etc.]

Right you are, ole comride! 'E said breakfast, an' breakfast it
shall be, I don't fink! Blimey! Sossingers! Ain't 'ad the taste
of sossingers in my gizzard for I don't know 'ow long!

[He sits and devours whilst MANSON breaks and hands him bread,
waiting upon him.]

[Between bites.] Wouldn't think as I was 'is brother, would
yer--not to look at me? But strooth, _I am_; an' wot's more, 'e
cawn't deny it! . . . [He labours with a little joke.] There's a
lot o' brothers knockin' abaht as people don't know on, eh what?
See wot I mean? [Suddenly serious.] Not as I'm one o' them sort,
mind yer: my father married my mother honest, same as I married my
little . . .

[After a moment's reflection, he makes fresh onslaught upon the
sausages. Presently he looks up.]

'Ere, ain't you goin' ter 'av' none? . . . Cawn't yer speak?

MANSON. Yes.

ROBERT. Well, why cawn't yer arnser a bloke when 'e arsks yer
civil?

MANSON. You didn't make it dear that you wanted to eat with me.

ROBERT. Want a bit of 'eart in it, eh?

MANSON. Yes, that's all.

ROBERT [largely]. Sit dahn, ole pal! Mek yourself at 'ome!

[MANSON obeys.]

See, wot was I tawkin' abaht. Just afore you turned narsty?

MANSON. You were going to say something about--your little girl's
mother.

[ROBERT'S cutlery bristles up like bayonets.]

ROBERT. Look 'ere, mate, don't you come tryin' it on with me! I
don't care _oo_ you are!

MANSON. I know that.

ROBERT. Then let me be, I tell yer! You tek all the taste out o'
my sossingers.

MANSON. I should like to hear about her, comrade.

ROBERT. _You_ cawn't bring 'er back. She's dead.

MANSON. What