steals through everyone and extends even to their feet. There is some furtive fondling of the women under cover of the paper. Dorothy is too far gone to care.
By a quarter past four the paper is all crumpled and torn to nothing, and it is far too cold to remain sitting down. The people get up, swear, find their legs somewhat rested, and begin to slouch to and fro in couples, frequently halting from mere lassitude. Every belly is now contorted with hunger. Ginger’s tin of condensed milk is torn open and the contents devoured, everyone dipping their fingers into it and licking them. Those who have no money at all leave the Square for the Green Park, where they will be undisturbed till seven. Those who can command even a halfpenny make for Wilkins’s café not far from the Charing Cross Road. It is known that the café will not open till five o’clock; nevertheless, a crowd is waiting outside the door by twenty to five.)
Mrs. McElligot: “Got your halfpenny, dearie? Dey won’t let more’n four of us in on one cup o’ tea, de stingy ole gets!”
Mr. Tallboys (singing): “The roseate hu-ues of early da-awn—”
Ginger: “God, that bit of sleep we ’ad under the newspapers done me some good. (Singing): But I’m dan-cing with tears—in my eyes——”
Charlie: “Oh, boys, boys! Look through that perishing window, will you? Look at the ’eat steaming down the window pane! Look at the tea-urns jest on the boil, and them great piles of ’ot toast and ’am sandwiches, and them there sausages sizzling in the pan! Don’t it make your belly turn perishing summersaults to see ’em?”
Dorothy: “I’ve got a penny. I can’t get a cup of tea for that, can I?”
Snouter: “—— lot of sausages we’ll get this morning with fourpence between us. ’Alf a cup of tea and a —— doughnut more likely. There’s a breakfus’ for you!”
Mrs. McElligot: “You don’t need buy a cup o’ tea all to yourself. I got a halfpenny an’ so’s Daddy, an’ we’ll put’m to your penny an’ have a cup between de t’ree of us. He’s got sores on his lip, but Hell! who cares? Drink near de handle an’ dere’s no harm done.”
(A quarter to five strikes.)
Mrs. Bendigo: “I’d bet a dollar my ole man’s got a bit of ’addock to ’is breakfast. I ’ope it bloody chokes ’im.”
Ginger (singing): “But I’m dan-cing with tears—in my eyes——”
Mr. Tallboys (singing): “Early in the morning my song shall rise to Thee!”
Mrs. McElligot: “You gets a bit o’ kip in dis place, dat’s one comfort. Dey lets you sleep wid your head on de table till seven o’clock. It’s a bloody godsend to us Square Tobies.”
Charlie (slavering like a dog): “Sausages! Perishing sausages! Welsh rabbit! ’Ot dripping toast! And a rumpsteak two inches thick with chips and a pint of Ole Burton! Oh, perishing Jesus!” (He bounds forward, pushes his way through the crowd and rattles the handle of the glass door. The whole crowd of people, about forty strong, surge forward and attempt to storm the door, which is stoutly held within by Mr. Wilkins, the proprietor of the café. He menaces them through the glass. Some press their breasts and faces against the window as though warming themselves. With a whoop and a rush Florry and four other girls, comparatively fresh from having spent part of the night in bed, debouch from a neighbouring alley, accompanied by a gang of youths in blue suits. They hurl themselves upon the rear of the crowd with such momentum that the door is almost broken. Mr. Wilkins pulls it furiously open and shoves the leaders back. A fume of sausages, kippers, coffee and hot bread streams into the outer cold.)
Youths’ voices from the rear: “Why can’t he —— open before five? We’re starving for our —— tea! Ram the —— door in!” etc., etc.
Mr. Wilkins: “Get out! Get out, the lot of you! Or by God not one of you comes in this morning!”
Girls’ voices from the rear: “Mis-ter Wil-kins! Mis-ter Wil-kins! Be a sport and let us in! I’ll give y’a kiss all free for nothing. Be a sport now!” etc., etc.
Mr. Wilkins: “Get on out of it! We don’t open before five, and you know it.” (Slams the door.)
Mrs. McElligot: “Oh, holy Jesus, if dis ain’t de longest ten minutes o’ de whole bloody night! Well, I’ll give me poor ole legs a rest, anyway.” (Squats on her heels coal-miner-fashion. Many others do the same.)
Ginger: “ ’Oo’s got a ’alfpenny? I’m ripe to go fifty-fifty on a doughnut.”
Youths’ voices (imitating military music, then singing):
“ ‘——!’ was all the band could play;
‘——! ——!’ And the same to you!”
Dorothy (to Mrs. McElligot): “Look at us all! Just look at us! What clothes! What faces!”
Mrs. Bendigo: “You’re no Greta Garbo yourself, if you don’t mind my mentioning it.”
Mrs. Wayne: “Well, now, the time do seem to pass slowly when you’re waiting for a nice cup of tea, don’t it now?”
Mr. Tallboys (chanting): “For our soul is brought low, even unto the dust: our belly cleaveth unto the ground!’
Charlie: “Kippers! Perishing piles of ’em! I can smell ’em through the perishing glass.”
Ginger (singing):
“But I’m dan-cing with tears—in my eyes—
Cos the girl—in my arms—isn’t you-o-ou!”
(Much time passes. Five strikes. Intolerable ages seem to pass. Then the door is suddenly wrenched open and the people stampede in to fight for the corner seats. Almost swooning in the hot air, they fling themselves down and sprawl across the tables, drinking in the heat and the smell of food through all their pores.)
Mr. Wilkins: “Now then, all! You know the rules, I s’pose. No hokey-pokey this morning! Sleep till seven if you like, but if I see any man asleep after that, out he goes on his neck. Get busy with that tea, girls!”
A deafening chorus of yells: “Two teas ’ere! Large tea and a doughnut between us four! Kippers! Mis-ter Wil-kins! ’Ow much them sausages? Two slices! Mis-ter Wil-kins! Got any fag papers? Kipp-ers!” etc., etc.
Mr. Wilkins: “Shut up, shut up! Stop that hollering or I don’t serve any of you.”
Mrs. McElligot: “D’you feel de blood runnin’ back into your toes, dearie?”
Mrs. Wayne: “He do speak rough to you, don’t he? Not what I’d call a reely gentlemanly kind of man.”
Snouter: “This is —— Starvation Corner, this is. Cripes! Couldn’t I do a couple of them sausages!”
The tarts (in chorus): “Kippers ’ere! ’Urry up with them kippers! Mis-ter Wil-kins! Kippers all round! And a doughnut!”
Charlie: “Not ’alf! Got to fill up on the smell of ’em this morning. Sooner be ’ere than on the perishing Square, all the same.”
Ginger:
