Pygmalion
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.
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.
Less patient ones bid her shut her head, or ask her roughly what is
wrong with her. A remoter group, not knowing what the matter is, crowd
in and increase the noise with question and answer: What’s the row?
What she do? Where is he? A tec taking her down. What! him? Yes: him
over there: Took money off the gentleman, etc. The flower girl,
distraught and mobbed, breaks through them to the gentleman, crying
mildly] Oh, sir, don’t let him charge me. You dunno what it means to
me. They’ll take away my character and drive me on the streets for
speaking to gentlemen. They—
THE NOTE TAKER [coming forward on her right, the rest crowding after
him] There, there, there, there! Who’s hurting you, you silly girl?
What do you take me for?
THE BYSTANDER. It’s all right: he’s a gentleman: look at his boots.
[Explaining to the note taker] She thought you was a copper’s nark, sir.
THE NOTE TAKER [with quick interest] What’s a copper’s nark?
THE BYSTANDER [inept at definition] It’s a—well, it’s a copper’s nark,
as you might say. What else would you call it? A sort of informer.
THE FLOWER GIRL [still hysterical] I take my Bible oath I never said a
word—
THE NOTE TAKER [overbearing but good-humored] Oh, shut up, shut up. Do
I look like a policeman?
THE FLOWER GIRL [far from reassured] Then what did you take down my
words for? How do I know whether you took me down right? You just show
me what you’ve wrote about me. [The note taker opens his book and holds
it steadily under her nose, though the pressure of the mob trying to
read it over his shoulders would upset a weaker man]. What’s that? That
ain’t proper writing. I can’t read that.
THE NOTE TAKER. I can. [Reads, reproducing her pronunciation exactly]
“Cheer ap, Keptin; n’ haw ya flahr orf a pore gel.”
THE FLOWER GIRL [much distressed] It’s because I called him Captain. I
meant no harm. [To the gentleman] Oh, sir, don’t let him lay a charge
agen me for a word like that. You—
THE GENTLEMAN. Charge! I make no charge. [To the note taker] Really,
sir, if you are a detective, you need not begin protecting me against
molestation by young women until I ask you. Anybody could see that the
girl meant no harm.
THE BYSTANDERS GENERALLY [demonstrating against police espionage]
Course they could. What business is it of yours? You mind your own
affairs. He wants promotion, he does. Taking down people’s words! Girl
never said a word to him. What harm if she did? Nice thing a girl can’t
shelter from the rain without being insulted, etc., etc., etc. [She is
conducted by the more sympathetic demonstrators back to her plinth,
where she resumes her seat and struggles with her emotion].
THE BYSTANDER. He ain’t a tec. He’s a blooming busybody: that’s what he
is. I tell you, look at his boots.
THE NOTE TAKER [turning on him genially] And how are all your people
down at Selsey?
THE BYSTANDER [suspiciously] Who told you my people come from Selsey?
THE NOTE TAKER. Never you mind. They did. [To the girl] How do you come
to be up so far east? You were born in Lisson Grove.
THE FLOWER GIRL [appalled] Oh, what harm is there in my leaving Lisson
Grove? It wasn’t fit for a pig to live in; and I had to pay
four-and-six a week. [In tears] Oh, boo—hoo—oo—
THE NOTE TAKER. Live where you like; but stop that noise.
THE GENTLEMAN [to the girl] Come, come! he can’t touch you: you have a
right to live where you please.
A SARCASTIC BYSTANDER [thrusting himself between the note taker and the
gentleman] Park Lane, for instance. I’d like to go into the Housing
Question with you, I would.
THE FLOWER GIRL [subsiding into a brooding melancholy over her basket,
and talking very low-spiritedly to herself] I’m a good girl, I am.
THE SARCASTIC BYSTANDER [not attending to her] Do you know where _I_
come from?
THE NOTE TAKER [promptly] Hoxton.
Titterings. Popular interest in the note taker’s performance increases.
THE SARCASTIC ONE [amazed] Well, who said I didn’t? Bly me! You know
everything, you do.
THE FLOWER GIRL [still nursing her sense of injury] Ain’t no call to
meddle with me, he ain’t.
THE BYSTANDER [to her] Of course he ain’t. Don’t you stand it from him.
[To the note taker] See here: what call have you to know about people
what never offered to meddle with you? Where’s your warrant?
SEVERAL BYSTANDERS [encouraged by this seeming point of law] Yes:
where’s your warrant?
THE FLOWER GIRL. Let him say what he likes. I don’t want to have no
truck with him.
THE BYSTANDER. You take us for dirt under your feet, don’t you? Catch
you taking liberties with a gentleman!
THE SARCASTIC BYSTANDER. Yes: tell HIM where he come from if you want
to go fortune-telling.
THE NOTE TAKER. Cheltenham, Harrow, Cambridge, and India.
THE GENTLEMAN. Quite right. [Great laughter. Reaction in the note
taker’s favor. Exclamations of He knows all about it. Told him proper.
Hear him tell the toff where he come from? etc.]. May I ask, sir, do
you do this for your living at a music hall?
THE NOTE TAKER. I’ve thought of that. Perhaps I shall some day.
The rain has stopped; and the persons on the outside of the crowd begin
to drop off.
THE FLOWER GIRL [resenting the reaction] He’s no gentleman, he ain’t,
to interfere with a poor girl.
THE DAUGHTER [out of patience, pushing her way rudely to the front and
displacing the gentleman, who politely retires to the other side of the
pillar] What on earth is Freddy doing? I shall get pneumonia if I stay
in this draught any longer.
THE NOTE TAKER [to himself, hastily making a note of her pronunciation
of “monia”] Earlscourt.
THE DAUGHTER [violently] Will you please keep your impertinent remarks
to yourself?
THE NOTE TAKER. Did I say that out loud? I didn’t mean to. I beg your
pardon. Your mother’s Epsom, unmistakeably.
THE MOTHER [advancing between her daughter and the note taker] How very
curious! I was brought up in Largelady Park, near Epsom.
THE NOTE TAKER [uproariously amused] Ha! ha! What a devil of a name!
Excuse me. [To the daughter] You want a cab, do you?
THE DAUGHTER. Don’t dare speak to me.
THE MOTHER. Oh, please, please Clara. [Her daughter repudiates her with
an angry shrug and retires haughtily.] We should be so grateful to you,
sir, if you found us a cab. [The note taker produces a whistle]. Oh,
thank you. [She joins her daughter]. The note taker blows a piercing
blast.
THE SARCASTIC BYSTANDER. There! I knowed he was a plain-clothes copper.
THE BYSTANDER. That ain’t a police whistle: that’s a sporting whistle.
THE FLOWER GIRL [still preoccupied with her wounded feelings] He’s no
right to take away my character. My character is the same to me as any
lady’s.
THE NOTE TAKER. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed it; but the rain
stopped about two minutes ago.
THE BYSTANDER. So it has. Why didn’t you say so before? and us losing
our time listening to your silliness. [He walks off towards the Strand].
THE SARCASTIC BYSTANDER. I can tell where you come from. You come from