I told 'im I wouldn't advise it. I 'ave too much respect fur—me clo'es.
Vagrant. It's their place—the women ought to do the washin'.
Mr. P. I'm not sure you ain't right. For a good many o' you fellas, from the look o' you—you cawn't even wash yerselves.
(Laughter.)
Voice (threatening). 'Oo are you talkin' to?
(Chairman more anxious than before—movement in the crowd.)
Threatening Voice. Which of us d'you mean?
Mr. P. (coolly looking down). Well, it takes about ten of your sort to myke a man, so you may take it I mean the lot of you.
(Angry indistinguishable retorts and the crowd sways. Miss Ernestine Blunt, who has been watching the fray with serious face, turns suddenly, catching sight of some one just arrived at the end of the platform. Miss Blunt goes R. with alacrity, saying audibly to Pilcher as she passes, "Here she is," and proceeds to offer her hand helping some one to get up the improvised steps. Laughter and interruption in the crowd.)
Lady John. Now, there's another woman going to speak.