LEMMY. I daon't want to embarrass the Gover'ment. They're so ticklish ever since they got the 'abit, war-time, o' mindin' wot people said.
PRESS. Right-o!
LEMMY. For instance, suppose there's goin' to be a revolution—— [THE PRESS writes with energy.] 'Ow does it touch me? Like this: I my go up—I cawn't come dahn; no more can Muvver.
MRS. L. [Surprisingly] Us all goes down into the grave.
PRESS. "Mrs. Lemmy interjects the deeper note."
LEMMY. Naow, the gryte—they can come dahn, but they cawn't go up! See! Put two an' two together, an' that's 'ow it touches me. [He utters a throaty laugh] 'Ave yer got that?
PRESS. [Quizzical] Not go up? What about bombs, Mr. Lemmy?
LEMMY. [Dubious] Wot abaht 'em? I s'pose ye're on the comic pypers? 'Ave yer noticed wot a weakness they 'ave for the 'orrible?
PRESS. [Writing] "A grim humour peeped out here and there through the earnestness of his talk."
[He sketches LEMMY'S profile.]