Pygmalion

FREDDY. Oh, very well: I'll go, I'll go. [He opens his umbrella and

dashes off Strandwards, but comes into collision with a flower girl,

who is hurrying in for shelter, knocking her basket out of her hands. A

blinding flash of lightning, followed instantly by a rattling peal of

thunder, orchestrates the incident]

THE FLOWER GIRL. Nah then, Freddy: look wh' y' gowin, deah.

FREDDY. Sorry [he rushes off].

THE FLOWER GIRL [picking up her scattered flowers and replacing them in

the basket] There's menners f' yer! Te-oo banches o voylets trod into

the mad. [She sits down on the plinth of the column, sorting her

flowers, on the lady's right. She is not at all an attractive person.

She is perhaps eighteen, perhaps twenty, hardly older. She wears a

little sailor hat of black straw that has long been exposed to the dust

and soot of London and has seldom if ever been brushed. Her hair needs

washing rather badly: its mousy color can hardly be natural. She wears

a shoddy black coat that reaches nearly to her knees and is shaped to

her waist. She has a brown skirt with a coarse apron. Her boots are

much the worse for wear. She is no doubt as clean as she can afford to

be; but compared to the ladies she is very dirty. Her features are no

worse than theirs; but their condition leaves something to be desired;

and she needs the services of a dentist].

THE MOTHER. How do you know that my son's name is Freddy, pray?

THE FLOWER GIRL. Ow, eez ye-ooa san, is e? Wal, fewd dan y' de-ooty

bawmz a mather should, eed now bettern to spawl a pore gel's flahrzn

than ran awy atbaht pyin. Will ye-oo py me f'them? [Here, with

apologies, this desperate attempt to represent her dialect without a

phonetic alphabet must be abandoned as unintelligible outside London.]

THE DAUGHTER. Do nothing of the sort, mother. The idea!

THE MOTHER. Please allow me, Clara. Have you any pennies?

THE DAUGHTER. No. I've nothing smaller than sixpence.

THE FLOWER GIRL [hopefully] I can give you change for a tanner, kind

lady.

THE MOTHER [to Clara] Give it to me. [Clara parts reluctantly]. Now [to

the girl] This is for your flowers.

THE FLOWER GIRL. Thank you kindly, lady.

THE DAUGHTER. Make her give you the change. These things are only a

penny a bunch.

THE MOTHER. Do hold your tongue, Clara. [To the girl]. You can keep the

change.

THE FLOWER GIRL. Oh, thank you, lady.

THE MOTHER. Now tell me how you know that young gentleman's name.

THE FLOWER GIRL. I didn't.