Uncle. I suppose the side that fought best.
Child. But which side was that? (The Uncle begins to find that the society of an intelligent Nephew entails too severe a mental strain to be frequently cultivated.)
Free Speech
Scene—An Open Space. Rain falling in torrents. An Indignation Meeting is being held to protest against the Royal Grants. The Chairman presides at a small portable reading-desk, generally alluded to as The "Nostrum"; a ring of more or less Earnest Radicals, under umbrellas, surround him. Speakers address the Meeting in rapid succession; a Man with a red flag gives it a sinister wave at any particularly vigorous expression. Her Gracious Majesty the Queen is repeatedly described as "this mis-rubble ole bein'," an Archbishop is invariably mentioned as an "Arch-rogue," while the orators and the audience appear from their remarks to be the only persons capable of worthily guiding this unhappy Country's destinies. Policemen in couples look on from a distance and smile indulgently.
An Orator (bitterly). The weather is against us, Feller Republikins, there's no denyin' that. As we were tramping along 'ere, through the mud and in the rain, wet to the skin, I couldn't 'elp remarking to a friend o' mine, that if it had been a pidging-shootin' match at Urlingham, or a Race-meeting at Hascot, things 'ud ha' been diff'rent! Ther'd ha' bin blue sky and sunshine enough then. Well, I 'spose hany weather's considered good enough for the likes of hus! Hany weather'll do for pore downtrod slaves to assert their man'ood and their hindependence in! (Cries of "Shame!") Never you mind—hour turn'll come some day! We sha'n't halways be 'eld down, and muzzled, and silenced, and prevented uttering the hindignation we've a right to feel! (Bellowing.) We shall make our vices 'eard one day! But I'm reminded by my friend as I've got to keep to the pint. Well (he composes his features into a sneer) I'm told as 'ow 'Er Most Gracious Madjesty—("Booing" from Earnest Radicals)—'Er Most Gracious Madjesty—'as she calls 'erself—'as put by a little matter of a millum an' a 'arf—since she came to the Throne. Now, Feller Republikins, that millum an' a 'arf 'as come out of your pockets!
Several Persons (who do not look as if they paid a heavy income tax). 'Ear 'ear!
Orator. Yes, it belongs to the People—ah! and you've a legal right to demand it back—a legal right! And I arsk you—if that millum and a 'arf of money was to be divided among the Toilers of London ter-morrow—'ow many Hunemployed should we see? (Crowd deeply impressed by this forcible argument.) Yet we're arst to put our 'ands in our pockets to support the Queen's children!
A Gentleman with very short hair. Shame—never! [Puts his hand in somebody else's pocket by way of emphasising his declaration.]
Orator. Feller Republikins, if a Queen don't do the work as she's paid for doin' of, what ought to be done with 'er? I put it to you!