ROBERT. That's about it: I'm the drain-man, see? Thought you might be mistakin' me for—summat else, if you wasn't told. Now you know.
[MARY'S face, as she returns, bears the first dawn of an idea. The
VICAR lifts a hand of warning to AUNTIE.]
VICAR. Go on.
ROBERT. That's what I come 'ere to talk abaht—my job. P'r'aps you'll think as it ain't a tasty subjic, before a lot o' nice, clean, respectable people as never 'ad anythin' worse on their fingers than a bit of lawn-dirt, playin' crokey; but some one 'as to see to the drains, some one 'as to clear up the muck of the world! I'm the one.
An' I'm 'ere to tell you about it.
AUNTIE [involuntarily]. Oh! . . .
ROBERT. You don't like that, ma'am? 'Urts your feelin's, eh?
AUNTIE. Yes; but not in the way you mean,
MARY. But you know, you really are a little unpleasant!
ROBERT. I'm not 'ere to be pleasant, young leddy: I'm 'ere to edicate you.