Well, we've all got a weakness towards bein' kind, somewhere
abaht us. But the moment wealf comes in, we 'yn't wot I call
single-'earted. If yer went into the foundytions of your wealf--would
yer feel like 'avin' any? It all comes from uvver people's 'ard,
unpleasant lybour--it's all built on Muvver as yer might sy. An' if
yer daon't get rid o' some of it in bein' kind--yer daon't feel syfe
nor comfy.
LORD W. [Twisting his moustache] Your philosophy is very pessimistic.
LEMMY. Well, I calls meself an optimist; I sees the worst of
everyfink. Never disappynted, can afford to 'ave me smile under the
blackest sky. When deaf is squeezin' of me windpipe, I shall 'ave a
laugh in it! Fact is, if yer've 'ad to do wiv gas an' water pipes,
yer can fyce anyfing. [The distant Marseillaise blares up] 'Ark at
the revolution!
LORD W. [Rather desperately] I know--hunger and all the rest of it!
And here am I, a rich man, and don't know what the deuce to do.
LEMMY. Well, I'll tell yer. Throw yer cellars open, an' while the
populyce is gettin' drunk, sell all yer 'ave an' go an' live in
Ireland; they've got the millennium chronic over there.
[LORD WILLIAM utters a short, vexed laugh, and begins to walk
about.]
That's speakin' as a practical man. Speakin' as a synt "Bruvvers,
all I 'ave is yours. To-morrer I'm goin' dahn to the Lybour Exchynge
to git put on the wytin' list, syme as you!"
LORD W.
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