Pygmalion | Page 6

evening dress. They are all peering out gloomily at the rain,
except one man with his back turned to the rest, who seems wholly
preoccupied with a notebook in which he is writing busily.
The church clock strikes the first quarter.
THE DAUGHTER [in the space between the central pillars, close to
the one on her left] I'm getting chilled to the bone. What can Freddy be
doing all this time? He's been gone twenty minutes.
THE MOTHER [on her daughter's right] Not so long. But he ought to
have got us a cab by this.
A BYSTANDER [on the lady's right] He won't get no cab not until
half-past eleven, missus, when they come back after dropping their
theatre fares.
THE MOTHER. But we must have a cab. We can't stand here until
half-past eleven. It's too bad.
THE BYSTANDER. Well, it ain't my fault, missus.
THE DAUGHTER. If Freddy had a bit of gumption, he would have got
one at the theatre door.
THE MOTHER. What could he have done, poor boy?
THE DAUGHTER. Other people got cabs. Why couldn't he?
Freddy rushes in out of the rain from the Southampton Street side, and
comes between them closing a dripping umbrella. He is a young man of
twenty, in evening dress, very wet around the ankles.
THE DAUGHTER. Well, haven't you got a cab?
FREDDY. There's not one to be had for love or money.

THE MOTHER. Oh, Freddy, there must be one. You can't have tried.
THE DAUGHTER. It's too tiresome. Do you expect us to go and get
one ourselves?
FREDDY. I tell you they're all engaged. The rain was so sudden:
nobody was prepared; and everybody had to take a cab. I've been to
Charing Cross one way and nearly to Ludgate Circus the other; and
they were all engaged.
THE MOTHER. Did you try Trafalgar Square?
FREDDY. There wasn't one at Trafalgar Square.
THE DAUGHTER. Did you try?
FREDDY. I tried as far as Charing Cross Station. Did you expect me to
walk to Hammersmith?
THE DAUGHTER. You haven't tried at all.
THE MOTHER. You really are very helpless, Freddy. Go again; and
don't come back until you have found a cab.
FREDDY. I shall simply get soaked for nothing.
THE DAUGHTER. And what about us? Are we to stay here all night in
this draught, with next to nothing on. You selfish pig--
FREDDY. Oh, very well: I'll go, I'll go. [He opens his umbrella and
dashes off Strandwards, but comes into collision with a flower girl,
who is hurrying in for shelter, knocking her basket out of her hands. A
blinding flash of lightning, followed instantly by a rattling peal of
thunder, orchestrates the incident]
THE FLOWER GIRL. Nah then, Freddy: look wh' y' gowin, deah.
FREDDY. Sorry [he rushes off].
THE FLOWER GIRL [picking up her scattered flowers and replacing
them in the basket] There's menners f' yer! Te-oo banches o voylets
trod into the mad. [She sits down on the plinth of the column, sorting
her flowers, on the lady's right. She is not at all an attractive person.
She is perhaps eighteen, perhaps twenty, hardly older. She wears a little
sailor hat of black straw that has long been exposed to the dust and soot
of London and has seldom if ever been brushed. Her hair needs
washing rather badly: its mousy color can hardly be natural. She wears
a shoddy black coat that reaches nearly to her knees and is shaped to
her waist. She has a brown skirt with a coarse apron. Her boots are
much the worse for wear. She is no doubt as clean as she can afford to
be; but compared to the ladies she is very dirty. Her features are no

worse than theirs; but their condition leaves something to be desired;
and she needs the services of a dentist].
THE MOTHER. How do you know that my son's name is Freddy,
pray?
THE FLOWER GIRL. Ow, eez ye-ooa san, is e? Wal, fewd dan y'
de-ooty bawmz a mather should, eed now bettern to spawl a pore gel's
flahrzn than ran awy atbaht pyin. Will ye-oo py me f'them? [Here, with
apologies, this desperate attempt to represent her dialect without a
phonetic alphabet must be abandoned as unintelligible outside
London.]
THE DAUGHTER. Do nothing of the sort, mother. The idea!
THE MOTHER. Please allow me, Clara. Have you any pennies?
THE DAUGHTER. No. I've nothing smaller than sixpence.
THE FLOWER GIRL [hopefully] I can give you change for a tanner,
kind lady.
THE MOTHER [to Clara] Give it to me. [Clara parts reluctantly]. Now
[to the girl] This is for your flowers.
THE FLOWER GIRL. Thank you kindly, lady.
THE DAUGHTER. Make her give you the change. These things are
only a penny a