"It's been empty long enough." Burton looked around him a little vaguely.
"You all seem very busy," he remarked.
"Some bloke from the country's taken the 'ouse," the man grumbled, "and wants to move in before the blooming paint's dry.

Nobody can't do impossibilities, mister," he continued, "leaving out the Unions, which can't bear to see us over-exert ourselves.

They've always got a particular eye on me, knowing I'm a bit too rapid for most of them when I start." "Give yourself a rest for a moment," Burton begged.

"Tell me, what's become of the rugs and oddments of furniture from that little room opposite ?" The man produced a pipe, contemplated it for a moment thoughtfully, and squeezed down a portion of blackened tobacco with his thumb.
"Poor smoking," he complained.

"Got such a family I can't afford more than one ounce a week.