The Servant in the House | Page 9

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 was her name?
ROBERT. Mary--same as the little gel's.
MANSON. I wonder whether they are anything alike.

ROBERT. That's wot I come to see! . . .
She 'ad 'er mother's nose when she was a biby--and 'er eyes! Gorstrike,
she was the very spit--far as a biby could be! . . .
Swelp me Moses, if I find 'er anything like Bill's ole geezer, I'll cut 'er
throat!
MANSON. And if she's like her mother? What then?
ROBERT. Why, then . . . there's allus my own. I nearly did it once.
MANSON [after a pause]. How did you come to lose her?
ROBERT [roughly]. Never you mind!
MANSON. How did you come to lose her?
ROBERT [sullenly]. Typhoid fever.
[MANSON notes the evasion with a glance. He helps ROBERT to
more tea, and waits for him to speak. ROBERT wriggles under his gaze,
and at last he says, reluctantly.]
Oh, it was my own fault, as I lost the kid!
MANSON. That was a sore loss, comrade.
ROBERT. I know it! Needn't rub it in! . . . Look, 'ere, comride, I 'adn't
a bad nature to begin with. Didn't me an' my brother Joshua pinch an'
slave the skin orf our bones to send that spotted swine to school? Didn't
we 'elp 'im out with 'is books an' 'is mortar-boards an' 'is bits of clothes
to try an' mek 'im look respectable? That's wot we did, till 'e got 'is
lousy scholyships, an' run away to get spliced with that she-male pup of
a blood-'ound! Cos why? Cos we was proud of the little
perisher!--proud of 'is 'ead-piece! We 'adn't gone none
ourselves--leastways, I 'adn't: Joshua was different to me; and now . . .
MANSON. And your brother Joshua: what of him? Where is he now?
ROBERT. I don't know--gone to pot, like me! P'r'aps eatin' is bleedin'
'eart out, same as I am, at the base ingratitood of the world!
MANSON. Perhaps so!
ROBERT. Where was I? You mek me lose my air, shoving in with
your bit!
MANSON. You were saying that you hadn't a bad nature to begin with.
ROBERT [truculently]. No more I 'adn't! . . .
O' course, when she took an'--an' died, things was different: I couldn't
'old up the same-- Somehow, I don't know, I lost my 'eart, and . . .
MANSON. Yes? . . .
ROBERT. That's 'ow I come to lose my kid, my little kid