e paid for
this muck, in the days we were human beings--paid about three times its
value! And to think of the poor devils, poor devils like us, who sweated
their life-blood out to make it--and of the blood-sucking devils who sold
it and got fat on it--and now back it goes to the devil it came from, and
we can at least get warm for a minute. [_He crams the wood into the
grate._] Got any paper, Mary?

MARY. [_Taking an old newspaper from the trunk._] Here, Joe.

JOE. That will help to build up a fire. [_He glances at it, then lays it
carefully underneath the wood._ MARY _gets lamp from table._] The Daily
Something or other--that tells the world what a happy people we are--how
proud of belonging to an Empire on which the sun never sets. And I'd sell
Gibraltar to-night for a sausage with mashed potatoes; and let Russia
take India if some one would give me a clerkship at a pound a
week.--There, in you go! A match, Mary?

MARY. [_Standing above_ JOE, _handing him one._] Ok Joe, be careful--we've
only two left!

JOE. I'll be careful. Wait, though--I'll see whether there's a bit of
tobacco still in my pipe. [_He fishes the pipe out of his pocket._] A
policeman who warned me away from the kerb gave me some tobacco. "Mustn't
beg," he said. "Got a pipe? Well, here's some tobacco." I believe he'd
have given me money. But it was the first kind word I had heard all day,
and it choked me.--There's just a bit left at the bottom. [_He bustles._]
Now, first the fire. [_He puts the match to the paper--it kindles._] And
then my pipe. [_The fire burns up; he throws himself in front of it._]
Boo-o-oh, I'm sizzling.... I got so wet that I felt the water running into
my lungs--my feet didn't seem to belong to me--and as for my head and
nose! [_Yawns._] Well, smoke's good--by the powers, I'm getting warm--come
closer to it, Mary. It's a little after midnight now--and I left home,
this fine, luxurious British home, just as soon as it was light. And I've
tramped the streets all day. Net result, a policeman gave me a pipeful of
tobacco, I lunched off a bit of bread that I saw floating down the
gutter--and I dined off the kitchen smell of the Cafe Royal. That's my
day.

MARY. [_Stroking his hand._] Poor boy, poor boy!

JOE. I stood for an hour in Leicester Square when the theatres emptied,
thinking I might earn a copper, calling a cab, or something. There they
were, all streaming out, happy and clean and warm--broughams and
motor-cars--suppe