Bill. Our Mattie! Gracious! what's the row, Susan?
Sus. She ain't well. Take her other arm, Bill, and help her out o' this. We ain't in no Christian country. Pluck up, Mattie, dear.
Bill. Come into the tart-shop. I'm a customer.
They go towards the shop. Exit POLICEMAN.
Mat. No, no, Sukey! I can't abide the smell of it. Let me sit on the kerb for a minute. (Sits down.) Oh, father! father!
Bill. Never you mind, Mattie! If he wor twenty fathers, he shan't come near ye.
Mat. Oh, Bill! if you could find him for me! He would take me home.
Bill. Now who'd ha' thought o' that? Axially wantin' her own father! I'd run far enough out o' the way o' mine—an' farther if he wur a-axin' arter me.
Mat. Oh me! my side!
Sus. It's hunger, poor dear! (Sits down beside her.)