[LITTLE AIDA shakes her head, and leans out of window.]
Movver, she daon't know the valyer of money.
MRS. L. Never mind 'im, me dear.
L. AIDA. [Sucking the gum-drop—with difficulty] There's a taxi-cab at the corner.
[LITTLE AIDA runs to the door. A figure stands in the doorway;
she skids round him and out. THE PRESS comes in.]
LEMMY. [Dubiously] Wat-oh!
PRESS. Mr. Lemmy?
LEMMY. The syme.
PRESS. I'm from the Press.
LEMMY. Blimy.