tune of a great laughter and heroic shoutings like the cry of
thunder. [Softer.] Sometimes, in the silence of the night-time,
one may hear the tiny hammerings of the comrades at work up in the
dome--the comrades that have climbed ahead.

[There is a short silence, broken only by the champing jaws of the
BISHOP, who has resumed his sausages. ROBERT speaks first.]

ROBERT [slowly]. I think I begin to understand you, comride:
especially that bit abaht . . . [his eyes stray upwards] . . .
the 'ammerins' an' the--the harches--an' . . . Humph! I'm only an
'og! . . .

S'pose there's no drain 'ands wanted in that there church o' yours?

MANSON. Drains are a very important question there at present.

ROBERT. Why, I'd be cussin' over every stinkin' pipe I laid.

MANSON. I should make that a condition, comrade.

ROBERT [rising, he pulls off the cassock; goes to fire for his
coat: returns: drags it on]. I don't know! Things 'av' got in a
bit of a muck with me! I'm rather like a drain-pipe myself.

[With sudden inspiration]. There's one thing I _can_ do!

MANSON. What's that?

ROBERT. Renahnce ole Beelzebub an' all 'is bloomin' wirks! 'And