ROBERT. Do you want 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 pardon, Mr. Manson . . . MANSON. I said, shew him in. Quick, Rogers. Keep a bishop waiting! ROGERS. Well, I'm jiggered! [He is; and goes out.] ROBERT. 'Ere! Did 'e say _bishop_? MANSON. Yes. ROBERT. Comin' 'ere? Now? [MANSON nods his head to each inquiry.] Well, I ain't agoin' ter leave my sossingers, not if 'e was a bloomin' archangel, see!