THE MOTHER. I heard you call him by it. Don't try to deceive me.
THE FLOWER GIRL [protesting] Who's trying to deceive you? I called him
Freddy or Charlie same as you might yourself if you was talking to a
stranger and wished to be pleasant. [She sits down beside her basket].
THE DAUGHTER. Sixpence thrown away! Really, mamma, you might have
spared Freddy that. [She retreats in disgust behind the pillar].
An elderly gentleman of the amiable military type rushes into shelter,
and closes a dripping umbrella. He is in the same plight as Freddy,
very wet about the ankles. He is in evening dress, with a light
overcoat. He takes the place left vacant by the daughter's retirement.
THE GENTLEMAN. Phew!
THE MOTHER [to the gentleman] Oh, sir, is there any sign of its
stopping?
THE GENTLEMAN. I'm afraid not. It started worse than ever about two
minutes ago. [He goes to the plinth beside the flower girl; puts up his
foot on it; and stoops to turn down his trouser ends].
THE MOTHER. Oh, dear! [She retires sadly and joins her daughter].
THE FLOWER GIRL [taking advantage of the military gentleman's proximity
to establish friendly relations with him]. If it's worse it's a sign
it's nearly over. So cheer up, Captain; and buy a flower off a poor
girl.
THE GENTLEMAN. I'm sorry, I haven't any change.
THE FLOWER GIRL. I can give you change, Captain,
THE GENTLEMEN. For a sovereign? I've nothing less.
THE FLOWER GIRL. Garn! Oh do buy a flower off me, Captain. I can change
half-a-crown. Take this for tuppence.
THE GENTLEMAN. Now don't be troublesome: there's a good girl. [Trying
his pockets] I really haven't any change--Stop: here's three hapence,
if that's any use to you [he retreats to the other pillar].
THE FLOWER GIRL [disappointed, but thinking three halfpence better than
nothing] Thank you, sir.
THE BYSTANDER [to the girl] You be careful: give him a flower for it.
There's a bloke here behind taking down every blessed word you're
saying. [All turn to the man who is taking notes].
THE FLOWER GIRL [springing up terrified] I ain't done nothing wrong by
speaking to the gentleman. I've a right to sell flowers if I keep off
the kerb. [Hysterically] I'm a respectable girl: so help me, I never
spoke to him except to ask him to buy a flower off me. [General hubbub,
mostly sympathetic to the flower girl, but deprecating her excessive
sensibility. Cries of Don't start hollerin. Who's hurting you? Nobody's
going to touch you. What's the good of fussing? Steady on. Easy, easy,
etc., come from the elderly staid spectators, who pat her comfortingly.