Polly (banteringly). You are a good boy. Save up enough for me too!
Mr. H. (surveying her with frank disparagement). You? Oh, lor! Not if I know it!
Flo (with an exaggerated sigh). Oh dear, I wish I was over there. They say they're advertising for maidservants—fifteen shillings a week, and the washing put out. I'd marry a prince or a lord duke, perhaps, when I got there. ARTHUR sent me a fashion-book.
Mr. H. So he sent me one, too. It was the Autumn fashions. They get their Autumn in the Spring out there, you know, and their Christmas Day comes in the middle of July. Seems rum, doesn't it?
Flo. He sent me his photo, too. He has improved.
Polly. You go out there, ERNIE, and p'raps you'll improve. [FLO giggles.
Mr. H. (hurt). There, that's enough—good-bye.
[Fausse sortie No. 2.
Polly (persuasively). 'Ere, stop! I want to speak to you. Is your girl here?
Mr. H. (glad of this opportunity). My girl? I ain't got no girl. I don't believe in 'em—a lot of—