JACK [_aside_]: I get you! [_Aloud._] Oh, you mean the latest, Mrs. Atkins?
MRS. ATKINS [_tartly_]: Isn’t that what I said, the litest in black?
JACK [_hurriedly_]: Yes, certainly, Mrs. Atkins, and we have the very latest here; never keep any other kind, in fact. [_Places chair for her._] Just take this chair, please. [_Aside._] Now, which class does she belong to, the size smaller or size larger? Blest, if I know. I’ll try her on dad’s Pankhurst dope first. Shouldn’t wonder but she would fall for that when she’s so English. [_Takes shoe from table and holds it up._] Here, madam, you have before you the very latest thing in boots, no other than the Pankhurst, designed by the celebrated suffragette leader herself and— [MRS. ATKINS _knocks boot out of his hand_.] Why, what’s the matter?
MRS. ATKINS [_vehemently_]: Don’t you dare to sell me a boot that horrid woman’s ’ad anything to do with.
JACK [_aside_]: Struck it wrong again. Oh the contrariness of woman. [_Aloud._] But my dear madam, surely you’re an admirer of the woman who was the greatest pioneer in fighting for the vote for women?
MRS. ATKINS [_jumps up excitedly_]: That’s the very reason I ’ate ’er. Votes for wimen! What does wimen want with votes? Us women ’ave enough to do to cook our ’usbands’ meals and tend the childrens’ noses and clean up the ’ouse after the man’s gone to work, leaving hashes and mud all over the floor, the way he does. [_Looks at boots on table._]
JACK [_aside, indicating fourth finger_]: This finger says, Agree with everything a customer says. [_Aloud._] That’s my idea, entirely, Mrs. Atkins. I agree with you there.
MRS. ATKINS [_turns on him_]: What do you know about it, young man?
MRS. ATKINS: Hit’s me who’s ’ad to suffer on account of the wimen being given the vote. My ’usband, ’ee’s a great one for electioneering, ’ee ’is, but he never used to leave me alone at nights until wimen got the frances. [_Sobs._] H’ever since then, ’ee’s been spending ’is evenings in other wimen’s ’omes, teaching them how to vote and he’s never h’at ’ome any more except for his meals. Ee do be regular for them, I must si. Ee ’as such an appetite. [_Sighs deeply several times._]
JACK [_aside_]: So that’s where the shoe pinches! [_Aloud._] Now, that’s too bad, Mrs. Atkins. I don’t blame you for not wanting the Pankhurst boot. I wouldn’t wear it myself. I’ll show you something else. What size?