Mrs. Atkins: Hit’s me who’s ’ad to suffer on account of the wimen being given the vote. My ’usband, ’ee’s a great one for electioneering, ’ee ’is, but he never used to leave me alone at nights until wimen got the frances. [Sobs.] H’ever since then, ’ee’s been spending ’is evenings in other wimen’s ’omes, teaching them how to vote and he’s never h’at ’ome any more except for his meals. Ee do be regular for them, I must si. Ee ’as such an appetite. [Sighs deeply several times.]
Jack [aside]: So that’s where the shoe pinches! [Aloud.] Now, that’s too bad, Mrs. Atkins. I don’t blame you for not wanting the Pankhurst boot. I wouldn’t wear it myself. I’ll show you something else. What size?
Mrs. Atkins: And you’d sigh, too, young man, if you had the troubles I’ve had, with your ’usband finding fault with the cooking ever since other wimen have been feeding him up and—
Jack [hurriedly]: What size boot do you take? That’s what I mean, Mrs. Atkins.
Mrs. Atkins [gets ready to go]: It doesn’t matter wot size I tike, for I’m not tiking any boots. That’s the only style of boot I want hand I’d buy it in a minute if it didn’t ’ave that odious woman’s nime connected with it. Not content with breaking windows, she ’as to break up ’omes, too, the hussy. [Goes towards door R.] Good-h’afternoon, sir.
Enter Mr. Wilson.
Mr. Wilson: Why, good-afternoon, Mrs. Atkins. I trust you’ve been served satisfactorily?
Mrs. Atkins [tartly]: No, I ’aven’t, not with the Pankhurst boot.
Mr. Wilson [picks up boot]: Jack, why didn’t you show her this anti-suffragette style. I’m sure Mrs. Atkins would like this.