Sigsby. What have you been doing?
Jawbones. Clinging to a roof for the last three hours.
Sigsby. Clinging to a roof! What for?
Jawbones. (He boils over.) Wot for? ’Cos I didn’t want to fall off! Wot do you think: ’cos I was fond of it?
Sigsby. I don’t understand—
Jawbones. You find yourself ’alf way up a ladder, posting bills as the other side ’as took objection to—with a crowd of girls from Pink’s jam factory waiting for you at the bottom with a barrel of treacle, and you will understand. Nothing else for me to do, o’ course, but to go up. Then they took the ladder away.
Sigsby. Where are the bills?
Jawbones. Last I see of them was their being put into a ’earse on its way to Ilford Cemetery.
Sigsby. This has got to be seen into. This sort of thing can’t be allowed to go on. (He snatches up his hat.)
Jawbones. There’s another suggestion I’d like to make.