t to know wot's come over me since then? I
_work_--and work well: that's more than some of 'em can say-- And
I don't get much money for it, either! That ought to mek 'em feel
ashamed! I'm not the drunkard I was--not by 'arf! If I'm bitter,
oo's made me bitter? You cawn't be very sweet and perlite on
eighteen bob a week--_when yer get it_! I'll tell yer summat else:
I've eddicated myself since then--I'm not the gory fool I was--
_And_ they know it! They can't come playin' the 'anky with us,
same as they used to! It's _Nice Mister Working-man This and Nice
Mister Working-man That, will yer be so 'ighly hobliging as to 'and
over your dear little voting-paper_--you poor, sweet, muddy-nosed
old Idiot, as can't spot your natural enemy when yer see 'im! That
orter mek some on 'em sit up!

Fifteen years ago me an' my like 'adn't got a religion! By Gawd,
we 'av' one now! Like to 'ear wot it is?

MANSON. Yes.

ROBERT. SOCIALISM! Funny, ain't it?

MANSON. _I_ don't think so. It's mine, too.

ROBERT. I believe in fighting with my clarss!

MANSON. Oh, against whom?

ROBERT. Why, agin all the other clarsses--curse 'em!

MANSON. Isn't that a bit of the old Robert left, comrade?

ROBERT. Oh, leave me alone. I cawn't be allus pickin' an'
choosin' my words! I ain't no scholar--thank Gawd!

MANSON. All the same, I'm right, eh, comrade? Comrade . . .

ROBERT [grudgingly]. Well, yus! [Savagely.] Yus, I tell yer!
Cawn't a bloke speak 'otter than 'e means without _you_ scrapin' at
'is innards?

[Exploding again.] Wait till I set eyes on that bleedin' brother
of mine again, that's all!

MANSON. Which bleeding brother?

ROBERT [with a thumb-jerk]. Why, '_im_, o' course! [Sneering.]
The Reverend William! 'Im as you said was damned! . . . Allus did
'ate parsons! I 'ates the sight of their 'arf-baked, silly mugs!

[There is a very loud Ringing of the Bell.]

'Ello! 'Ello! Did I mek a row like that?

MANSON. You tried, didn't you?

ROBERT. So I did, not 'arf! Thought if I kicked up an 'ell of a
shindy they'd think some big bug was comin'; and then when they'd
be all smiles an' bowin' an' scrapin', in pops me, real low!

[ROGERS enters. On seeing them at the table, he is apparently
troubled with his inside.]

ROGERS. Oh, my 'oly Evings!

MANSON. Who is it, Rogers?

ROGERS [awed]. It's the Bishop of Lancashire!

MANSON [imperturbably]. Shew him in, Rogers.

ROGERS. Beg pard