'Why, you'—he pointed at some one in the crowd—'you're like the man at 'Ammersmith this morning. 'E wus awskin' me, "'Ow would you like men to st'y at 'ome and do the fam'ly washin'?" I told 'im I wouldn't advise it. I 'ave too much respect fur'—they waited while slyly he brought out—'me clo'es.'
'It's their place,' said some one in a rage; 'the women ought to do the washin'.'
'I'm not sure you aren't right. For a good many o' you fellas from the look o' you, you cawn't even wash yourselves.'
This was outrageous. It was resented in an incipient riot. The helmets of the police bobbed about. An angry voice had called out—
'Oo are you talkin' to?'
The anxiety of the inexperienced chairman was almost touching.
The Socialist revelled in the disturbance he'd created. He walked up and down with that funny rolling gait, poking out his head at intervals in a turtle-esque fashion [highly] provocative, holding his huge paws kangaroo fashion, only with fingers stiffly pointed, and shooting them out at intervals towards the crowd in a very ecstasy of good-natured contempt.
'Better go 'ome and awsk yer wife to wash yer fice,' he advised. 'You cawn't even do that bit o' fam'ly washin'. Go and awsk some woman.'
There was a scuffle in the crowd. A section of it surged up towards the monument.