PRESS. [Writing]. "The great human issue—Mr. Lemmy touches it at once."
LEMMY. I sy keep my nyme aht o' this; I don' go in fer self-advertisement.
PRESS. [Writing] "True working-man—modest as usual."
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?