my words for? How do I know whether you took me down right? You
just show me what you've wrote about me. [The note taker opens
his book and holds it steadily under her nose, though the
pressure of the mob trying to read it over his shoulders would
upset a weaker man]. What's that? That ain't proper writing. I
can't read that.

THE NOTE TAKER. I can. [Reads, reproducing her pronunciation
exactly] "Cheer ap, Keptin; n' haw ya flahr orf a pore gel."

THE FLOWER GIRL [much distressed] It's because I called him
Captain. I meant no harm. [To the gentleman] Oh, sir, don't let
him lay a charge agen me for a word like that. You--

THE GENTLEMAN. Charge! I make no charge. [To the note taker]
Really, sir, if you are a detective, you need not begin
protecting me against molestation by young women until I ask you.
Anybody could see that the girl meant no harm.

THE BYSTANDERS GENERALLY [demonstrating against police espionage]
Course they could. What business is it of yours? You mind your
own affairs. He wants promotion, he does. Taking down people's
words! Girl never said a word to him. What harm if she did? Nice
thing a girl can't shelter from the rain without being insulted,
etc., etc., etc. [She is conducted by the more sympathetic
demonstrators back to her plinth, where she resumes her seat and
struggles with her emotion].

THE BYSTANDER. He ain't a tec. He's a blooming busybody: that's
what he is. I tell you, look at his boots.