Chauff. (with infinite scorn). Fat lot aw care. Yer nothing but a crowd of dead-aloive provincials. Don't suppose yer ever saw a taxi-keb till me and my mate come dahn from London. A 'ackney keb is news to yer in these parts. (Up to Stephen.)
Ste. (boiling over). I'm an alderman of this town and if you don't talk to me respectfully I'll have your license cancelled. You're not fit to have one.
Chauff. Ho! Blimey, not fit to 'ave a license, ain't aw? Aw've druv a dook in my keb. And yer a tahn councillor, are yer? Yus. Yer bloomin' well look it and aw can't say wuss than that.
Ste. I'll pay you out for this. I'll report you to your employer.
Chauff. (indignantly). Employer be blowed. Aw'm my own boss. Bought my keb, aw did. Thet's enterprise. Don't know what enterprise means dahn here, do yer?
Ste, What's your number? I'll report you to the police. (Goes to window and looks out.)
Chauff. Yus, yer do. Aw'll tell yer where 'e is. On the 'Igh Street with a stopwatch in his fat hand, trying to cop me exceedin' the limit, and aw've never druv above ten moile for fear of the kids.
(Jim goes up to door.)
Ste. I demand to know your number.
Chauff. (making sure that it is reversed). Never you moind my number. My name's Walker. Fair fed up with this tahn, aw am. Aw'm used to drivin' gentlemen. Aw druv a bally commercial abart all yesterday and the blighter tipped me tuppence.