!

MRS. L. [Indulgently] Yu'm a funny boy, that's sartin.

LEMMY. [Carving at the cork with a knife] This 'ere cork is like
Sasiety--rotten; it's old--old an' moulderin'. [He holds up a bit of
cork on the point of the knife] Crumblin' under the wax, it is. In
goes the screw an' out comes the cork. [With unction]--an' the blood
flows. [Tipping the bottle, he lets a drop fall into the middle of
his hand, and licks it up. Gazing with queer and doubting
commiseration at has mother] Well, old dear, wot shall we 'ave it
aht of--the gold loving-cup, or--what? 'Ave yer supper fust, though,
or it'll go to yer 'ead! [He goes to the cupboard and taken out a
disk in which a little bread is sopped in a little' milk] Cold pap!
'Ow can yer? 'Yn't yer got a kipper in the 'ouse?

MRS. L. [Admiring the bottle] Port wine! 'Tis a brave treat! I'll
'ave it out of the "Present from Margitt," Bob. I tuk 'ee therr by
excursion when yu was six months. Yu 'ad a shrimp an' it choked yu
praaperly. Yu was always a squeamy little feller. I can't never
think 'ow yu managed in the war-time, makin' they shells.

LEMMY, who has brought to the table two mugs and blown the duet
out of; them, fills them with port, and hands one to his mother,
who is eating her bread and milk.

LEMMY. Ah! Nothin' worried me, 'cept the want o' soap.

MRS. L. [Cackling gently] So it du still, then! Luke at yore face.
Yu never was a clean boy, like Jim.

[She puts out a thin finger and touches his cheek, whereon is a
black smudge.]

LEMMY. [Scrubbing his cheek with his sleeve.] All right! Y'see, I
come stryte 'ere, to get rid o' this.

[He drinks.]

MRS. L. [Eating her bread and milk] Tes a pity yu'm not got a wife
to see't yu wash yureself.

LEMMY. [Goggling] Wife! Not me--I daon't want ter myke no food for
pahder. Wot oh!--they said, time o' the war--ye're fightin' for yer
children's 'eritage. Well; wot's the 'eritage like, now we've got
it? Empty as a shell before yer put the 'igh explosive in. Wot's it
like? [Warming to his theme] Like a prophecy in the pypers--not a
bit more substantial.

MRS. L. [Slightly hypnotised] How 'e du talk! The gas goes to yore
'ead, I think!

LEMMY. I did the gas to-dy in the cellars of an 'ouse where the wine
was mountains 'igh. A regiment couldn't 'a drunk it. Marble pillars
in the 'all, butler broad as an observytion balloon, an' four
conscientious