They're no good to me."
"We stood it till flesh and blood could stand it no longer," declared her
husband, "and at last we came out, shoulder to shoulder, singing. The
people cheered us, and one of our leaders made 'em a speech."
"I should have liked to 'ave heard the singing," remarked his wife. "If
they all sang like you, it must ha' been as good as a pantermime! Do you
remember the last time you went on strike?"
"This is different," said Mr. Porter, with dignity.
"All our things went, bit by bit," pursued his wife, "all the money we
had put by for a rainy day, and we 'ad to begin all over again. What are
we going to live on? O' course, you might earn something by singing in
the street; people who like funny faces might give you something! Why
not go upstairs and put your 'ead under the bed-clothes and practise a
bit?"
Mr. Porter coughed. "It'll be all right," he said, confidently. "Our
committee knows what it's about; Bert Robinson is one of the best
speakers I've ever 'eard. If we don't all get five bob a week more I'll
eat my 'ead.
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