MRS. L. Never mind 'im, me dear.

L. AIDA. [Sucking the gum-drop--with difficulty] There's a taxi-cab
at the corner.

[LITTLE AIDA runs to the door. A figure stands in the doorway;
she skids round him and out. THE PRESS comes in.]

LEMMY. [Dubiously] Wat-oh!

PRESS. Mr. Lemmy?

LEMMY. The syme.

PRESS. I'm from the Press.

LEMMY. Blimy.

PRESS. They told me at your place you wens very likely here.

LEMMY. Yus I left Downin' Street a bit early to-dy! [He twangs the
feddle-strings pompously.]

PRESS. [Taking out his note-book and writing] "Fiddles while Rome
is burning!" Mr. Lemmy, it's my business at this very critical time
to find out what the nation's thinking. Now, as a representative
working man--

LEMMY. That's me.