Car. (to Gandy) Is your mother a good cook? (L. of table)
Gan. No, she ain't; far from it! 'Er jints are flabby, and 'er pie crust is h'ashfelt.
Kez. (coming out of larder) Is there anything more, Cook, as I can do?
Car. No, thanks. (Cook takes plates into scullery)
Kez. Good night, Gandy. (crosses to door R.)
Gan. Not so much Gandy! Mr. Gandy would do you more credit, and might lead to a cap ribbon at Christmas. (Cook comes out of scullery, takes large radish bowl and re-enters scullery) It's 'ard on a respectable man to mix with such riff-raff.
Kez. Riff-raff your own self. Why, for two pins—I'd——
Car. Keziah! (at scullery door, crosses L. again)
Kez. (meekly) Yus, Cook! (C.)
Car. Go and dress.