PRESS. Well now--the future. [Writing] "He prophesies."
LEMMY. It's syfer, 'yn't it? [He winks] No one never looks back on
prophecies. I remembers an editor spring o' 1916 stykin' his
reputytion the war'd be over in the follerin' October. Increased 'is
circulytion abaht 'arf a million by it. 1917 an' war still on--'ad
'is readers gone back on 'im? Nao! They was increasin' like
rabbits. Prophesy wot people want to believe, an' ye're syfe. Naow,
I'll styke my reputation on somethin', you tyke it dahn word for
word. This country's goin' to the dawgs--Naow, 'ere's the
sensytion--unless we gets a new religion.
PRESS. Ah! Now for it--yes?
LEMMY. In one word: "Kindness." Daon't mistyke me, nao sickly
sentiment and nao patronizin'. Me as kind to the millionaire as 'im
to me. [Fills his mug and drinks.]
PRESS. [Struck] That's queer! Kindness! [Writing] "Extremes
meet. Bombed and bomber breathing the same music."
LEMMY. But 'ere's the interestin' pynt. Can it be done wivaht
blood?
PRESS. [Writing] "He doubts."
LEMMY. No dabt wotever. It cawn't! Blood-and-kindness! Spill the
blood o' them that aren't kind--an' there ye are!
PRESS. But pardon me, how are you to tell?
LEMMY. Blimy, they leaps to the heye!
PRESS. [Laying down-his note-book] I say, let me talk to you as man
to man for a moment.
LEMMY. Orl right. Give it a rest!
PRESS.
Pages:
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50