MARY. If you do, I'll . . .
[She moves swiftly to the bell.]
ROBERT. It's a mistake, miss. P'r'aps I'd--I'd better tek my 'ook.
MARY. Stop! . . .
How dare you! Don't you know you're a very wicked man?
ROBERT. Me, miss?
MARY. Yes, you.
ROBERT. Yus, I know it.
MARY [trying to save the sinner]. That isn't the way to be happy,
you know. Thieves are never _really_ happy in their hearts.
ROBERT. Wot's that? . . .
Do you tike me for a thief, miss? You? . . .
[He advances to the table: she edges away.]
Why don't you arnser?
MARY. I had rather not say.
ROBERT. Cos why?
MARY. I don't want to be unkind.
[ROBERT sinks stricken into the chair behind him.]
ROBERT, Oh, my Gawd, my Gawd!
MARY [relenting]. Of course, if--if you're sorry, that makes a
difference. Being sorry makes a lot of difference. Doesn't it?
ROBERT. Yus, a fat lot!
MARY. Only you must never give way to such a wicked temptation
again. Oh, don't cry! [She goes to him.]
ROBERT. Oo is cryin'? I'm not cryin'--not a cryin' sort!
On'y--you 'adn't no right to talk to me like that, miss.
MARY. Why, didn't you own . . .
ROBERT. No, I didn't. It was you as jumped down my throat, an'
took up my words afore I got 'em out.
MARY. Oh: I'm sorry. Did I make a mistake?
ROBERT. Yus, miss--a whopper.
MARY. Then you're not a . . .
ROBERT. _No_, swelp me Gaw-- [He pulls himself up.] I assure
you, no. I'm a bit of a low un; but I never come so stinkin' low
as that.
You thought I looked like one, all the same. Didn't yer, now?
MARY. Well, you see, I thought you said so; and then there's your
. . .
ROBERT. I know! You don't like my mug. It ain't much of a mug to
look at, is it? Sort of a physog for a thief, eh? See them
lines?--Want to know what them stand for? That's drink, an'
starvation, an' 'ard work, an' a damned lonely life.
MARY. Oh, you poor man!
ROBERT. Yus, miss, I am.
MARY. You mustn't say "damned," you know.
ROBERT. No, miss.
MARY. _That's_ wicked, at any rate.
ROBERT. Yus, miss.
MARY. And you owned yourself that you drank. That's not very
good, either.
ROBERT. No, miss.
MARY. So, you see, you _are_ a little bit naughty, after all,
aren't you?
ROBERT. Yus, miss.
MARY. Now, isn't it much nicer for you to try and look at things
in this way? I'm sure you feel a great deal better already.
Do you know-- Wait a moment . . .
[She resumes her seat, turning it towards him, the passion of
salvation in her eyes.]
Do you know, I'd like to do you some good!
ROBERT. You, miss?
MARY. Yes, wouldn't you like me to?
ROBERT. You're the on'y person in the world I'd--I'd like to see
try, miss.
MARY [glad in the consciousness of "being used"]. That's because
you know I'm interested in you, that I mean it, that I'm not trying
to think only of myself.
ROBERT [a little stupidly]. Aren't you, miss?
MARY. No: we must always remember that there are other people in
the world besides ourselves.
[This coincides with his experience: he says so.]
ROBERT. Yus, miss, there are.
MARY. Very well: now I'll see what I can do to help you.
ROBERT. Thank you, miss.
MARY. Now, don't you think, if you were really _to wish_ very
hard, it would make things better for you?
ROBERT. I don't know what you mean, miss.
MARY. Well, it's like this: if you only wish very very hard,
everything comes true.
ROBERT. Wot _I_ want, ain't no use wishing for!
MARY. It doesn't matter what it is! Anything you like! It will
all happen!
ROBERT. Blimey, wot's the good o' talkin'?
MARY. Oh, wouldn't you like to help to spin the fairy-tale?
ROBERT [roughly], I don't believe in no fairy-tales!
MARY. I do! I don't believe there's anything else in the world,
if we only knew! And that's why I'm wishing! I'm wishing now!
I'm wishing hard!
ROBERT [passionately]. So am I, Gawd 'elp me! But it's no use!
MARY. It is! It is! What are you wishing for?
ROBERT. Never you mind! Summat as impossible as--fairy-tales!
MARY. So's mine! That's what it has to be! Mine's the most
impossible thing in the world!
ROBERT. Not more than mine!
MARY. What's yours?
ROBERT. What's yours?
MARY. _I want my father_!