The Foundations (An Extravagant Play)

L. ANNE. [Poignantly] Oh, Daddy!

LORD W. [Desperately] In fact – er – you know how – er – responsible we feel.

L. ANNE. Hooray! [Applause.]

[There float in through the windows the hoarse and distant sounds of the Marseillaise, as sung by London voices.]

LORD W. There is a feeling in the air – that I for one should say deliberately was – er – a feeling in the air – er – a feeling in the air —

L. ANNE. [Agonised] Oh, Daddy! Stop!

[Jane enters, and closes the door behind him. JAMES. Look here! 'Ave I got to report you to Miss Stokes?]

L. ANNE. No-o-o!

JAMES. Well, I'm goin' to.

L. ANNE. Oh, James, be a friend to me! I've seen nothing yet.

JAMES. No; but you've eaten a good bit, on the stairs. What price that Peach Melba?

L. ANNE. I can't go to bed till I've digested it can I? There's such a lovely crowd in the street!

JAMES. Lovely? Ho!

L. ANNE. [Wheedling] James, you couldn't tell Miss Stokes! It isn't in you, is it?

JAMES. [Grinning] That's right.

L. ANNE. So-I'll just get under here. [She gets under the table] Do I show?

JAMES. [Stooping] Not 'arf!

[POULDER enters from the hall.]

POULDER. What are you doin' there?

JAMES. [Between him and the table – raising himself] Thinkin'.

[POULDER purses his mouth to repress his feedings.]

POULDER. My orders are to fetch the bomb up here for Lady William to inspect. Take care no more writers stray in.

JAMES. How shall I know 'em?

POULDER. Well – either very bald or very hairy.

JAMES. Right-o! [He goes.]

[POULDER, with his back to the table, busies himself with the set of his collar.]

POULDER. [Addressing an imaginary audience – in a low but important voice] The – ah – situation is seerious. It is up to us of the – ah – leisured classes —

[The face of LITTLE ANNE is poked out close to his legs, and tilts upwards in wonder towards the bow of his waistcoat.]

to – ah – keep the people down. The olla polloi are clamourin' —

[Miss STOKES appears from the hall, between the pillars.]

Miss S. Poulder!

POULDER. [Making a volte face towards the table] Miss?

MISS S. Where is Anne?

POULDER. [Vexed at the disturbance of his speech] Excuse me, Miss – to keep track of Miss Anne is fortunately no part of my dooties.

[Miss S. She really is naughty.]

POULDER. She is. If she was mine, I'd spank her.

[The smiling face of LITTLE ANNE becomes visible again close to his legs.]

MISS S. Not a nice word.

POULDER. No; but a pleasant haction. Miss Anne's the limit. In fact, Lord and Lady William are much too kind 'earted all round. Take these sweated workers; that class o' people are quite 'opeless. Treatin' them as your equals, shakin 'ands with 'em, givin 'em tea – it only puffs 'em out. Leave it to the Church, I say.

MISS S. The Church is too busy, Poulder.

POULDER. Ah! That "Purity an' Future o' the Race Campaign." I'll tell you what I thinks the danger o' that, Miss. So much purity that there won't be a future race. [Expanding] Purity of 'eart's an excellent thing, no doubt, but there's a want of nature about it. Same with this Anti-Sweating. Unless you're anxious to come down, you must not put the lower classes up.

MISS S. I don't agree with you at all, Poulder.

POULDER. Ah! You want it both ways, Miss. I should imagine you're a Liberal.

MISS S. [Horrified] Oh, no! I certainly am not.

POULDER. Well, I judged from your takin' cocoa. Funny thing that, about cocoa-how it still runs through the Liberal Party! It's virtuous, I suppose. Wine, beer, tea, coffee-all of 'em vices. But cocoa you might drink a gallon a day and annoy no one but yourself! There's a lot o' deep things in life, Miss!

Miss S. Quite so. But I must find Anne.

[She recedes. ]

POULDER. [Suavely] Well, I wish you every success; and I hope you'll spank her. This modern education – there's no fruitiness in it.

L. ANNE. [From under the table] Poulder, are you virtuous?

POULDER. [Jumping] Good Ged!

L. ANNE. D'you mind my asking? I promised James I would.

POULDER. Miss Anne, come out!

[The four footmen appear in the hall, HENRY carrying the wine cooler.]

JAMES. Form fours-by your right-quick march!

[They enter, marching down right of table.]

Right incline – Mark time! Left turn! 'Alt! 'Enry, set the bomb! Stand easy!

[HENRY places the wine cooler on the table and covers it with a blue embroidered Chinese mat, which has occupied the centre of the tablecloth.]

POULDER. Ah! You will 'ave your game! Thomas, take the door there! James, the 'all! Admit titles an' bishops. No literary or Labour people. Charles and 'Enry, 'op it and 'ang about!

[CHARLES and HENRY go out, the other too move to their stations.] [POULDER, stands by the table looking at the covered bomb. The hoarse and distant sounds of the Marseillaise float in again from Park Lane.]

[Moved by some deep feeling] And this house an 'orspital in the war! I ask you – what was the good of all our sacrifices for the country? No town 'ouse for four seasons – rustygettin' in the shires, not a soul but two boys under me. Lord William at the front, Lady William at the back. And all for this! [He points sadly at the cooler] It comes of meddlin' on the Continent. I had my prognostications at the time. [To JAMES] You remember my sayin' to you just before you joined up: "Mark my words – we shall see eight per cent. for our money before this is over!"

JAMES. [Sepulchrally] I see the eight per cent., but not the money.

POULDER. Hark at that!

[The sounds of the Marseillaise grow louder. He shakes his head.]

I'd read the Riot Act. They'll be lootin' this house next!

JAMES. We'll put up a fight over your body: "Bartholomew Poulder, faithful unto death!" Have you insured your life?

POULDER. Against a revolution?

JAMES. Act o' God! Why not?

POULDER. It's not an act o' God.

JAMES. It is; and I sympathise with it.

POULDER. You – what?

JAMES. I do – only – hands off the gov'nor.

POULDER. Oh! Really! Well, that's something. I'm glad to see you stand behind him, at all events.

JAMES. I stand in front of 'im when the scrap begins!

POULDER. Do you insinuate that my heart's not in the right place?

JAMES. Well, look at it! It's been creepin' down ever since I knew you. Talk of your sacrifices in the war – they put you on your honour, and you got stout on it. Rations – not 'arf.

POULDER. [Staring at him] For independence, I've never seen your equal, James. You might be an Australian.

JAMES. [Suavely] Keep a civil tongue, or I'll throw you to the crowd! [He comes forward to the table] Shall I tell you why I favour the gov'nor? Because, with all his pomp, he's a gentleman, as much as I am. Never asks you to do what he wouldn't do himself. What's more, he never comes it over you. If you get drunk, or – well, you understand me, Poulder – he'll just say: "Yes, yes; I know, James!" till he makes you feel he's done it himself. [Sinking his voice mysteriously] I've had experience with him, in the war and out. Why he didn't even hate the Huns, not as he ought. I tell you he's no Christian.

POULDER. Well, for irreverence – !

JAMES. [Obstinately] And he'll never be. He's got too soft a heart.

L. ANNE. [Beneath the table-shrilly] Hurrah!

POULDER. [Jumping] Come out, Miss Anne!

JAMES. Let 'er alone!

POULDER. In there, under the bomb?

JAMES. [Contemptuously] Silly ass! You should take 'em lying down!

POULDER. Look here, James! I can't go on in this revolutionary spirit; either you or I resign.

JAMES. Crisis in the Cabinet!

POULDER. I give you your marchin' orders.

JAMES. [Ineffably] What's that you give me?

POULDER. Thomas, remove James!

[THOMAS grins.]

L. ANNE. [Who, with open mouth, has crept out to see the fun] Oh! Do remove James, Thomas!

POULDER. Go on, Thomas.

[THOMAS takes one step towards JAMES, who lays a hand on the Chinese mat covering the bomb.]

JAMES. [Grimly] If I lose control of meself.

L. ANNE. [Clapping her hands] Oh! James! Do lose control! Then I shall see it go off!

JAMES. [To POULDER] Well, I'll merely empty the pail over you!

POULDER. This is not becomin'!

[He walks out into the hall.]

JAMES. Another strategic victory! What a Boche he'd have made. As you were, Tommy!

[THOMAS returns to the door. The sound of prolonged applause cornea from within.]

That's a bishop.

L. ANNE. Why?

JAMES. By the way he's drawin'. It's the fine fightin' spirit in 'em. They were the backbone o' the war. I see there's a bit o' the old stuff left in you, Tommy.

L. ANNE. [Scrutinizing the widely – grinning THOM] Where? Is it in his mouth?

JAMES. You've still got a sense of your superiors. Didn't you notice how you moved to Poulder's orders, me boy; an' when he was gone, to mine?

L. ANNE. [To THOMAS] March!

[The grinning THOMAS remains immovable.]

He doesn't, James!

JAMES. Look here, Miss Anne – your lights ought to be out before ten. Close in, Tommy!

[He and THOMAS move towards her.]

L. ANNE. [Dodging] Oh, no! Oh, no! Look!

[The footmen stop and turn. There between the pillars, stands LITTLE AIDA with the trousers, her face brilliant With surprise.]

JAMES. Good Lord! What's this?

[Seeing L. ANNE, LITTLE AIDA approaches, fascinated, and the two children sniff at each other as it were like two little dogs walking round and round.]

L. ANNE. [Suddenly] My name's Anne; what's yours?

L. AIDA. Aida.

L. ANNE. Are you lost?

L. AIDA. Nao.

L. ANNE. Are those trousers?

L. AIDA. Yus.

L. Arms. Whose?

L. AIDA. Mrs. Lemmy's.

L. ANNE. Does she wear them?

[LITTLE AIDA smiles brilliantly.]

L. AIDA. Nao. She sews 'em.

L. ANNE. [Touching the trousers] They are hard. James's are much softer; aren't they, James? [JAMES deigns no reply] What shall we do? Would you like to see my bedroom?

L. AIDA. [With a hop] Aoh, yus!

JAMES. No.

L. ANNE. Why not?

JAMES. Have some sense of what's fittin'.

L. ANNE. Why isn't it fittin'? [To LITTLE AIDA] Do you like me?

L. AIDA. Yus-s.

L. ANNE. So do I. Come on!

[She takes LITTLE AIDA'S hand.]

JAMES. [Between the pillars] Tommy, ketch 'em!

[THOMAS retains them by the skirts.]

L. ANNE. [Feigning indifference] All right, then! [To LITTLE AIDA] Have you ever seen a bomb?

L. AIDA. Nao.

L. ANNE. [Going to the table and lifting a corner of the cover] Look!

L. AIDA. [Looking] What's it for?

L. ANNE. To blow up this house.

L. AIDA. I daon't fink!

L. ANNE. Why not?

L. AIDA. It's a beautiful big 'Ouse.

L. ANNE. That's why. Isn't it, James?

L. AIDA. You give the fing to me; I'll blow up our 'ouse – it's an ugly little 'ouse.

L. ANNE [Struck] Let's all blow up our own; then we can start fair. Daddy would like that.

L. AIDA. Yus. [Suddenly brilliant] I've 'ad a ride in a taxi, an' we're goin' 'ome in it agyne!

L. ANNE. Were you sick?

LITTLE AIDA. [Brilliant] Nao.

L. ANNE I was; when I first went in one, but I was quite young then. James, could you get her a Peche Melba? There was one.

JAMES. No.

L. ANNE. Have you seen the revolution?

L. AIDA. Wot's that?

L. ANNE. It's made of people.

L. AIDA. I've seen the corfin, it's myde o' wood.

L. ANNE. Do you hate the rich?

L. AIDA. [Ineffably] Nao. I hates the poor.

L. ANNE. Why?

L. AIDA. 'Cos they 'yn't got nuffin'.

L. ANNE. I love the poor. They're such dears.

L. AIDA. [Shaking her head with a broad smile] Nao.

L. ANNE. Why not?

L. AIDA. I'd tyke and lose the lot, I would.

L. ANNE. Where?

L. AIDA. In the water.

L. ANNE. Like puppies?

L. AIDA. Yus.

L. ANNE. Why?

L. AIDA. Then I'd be shut of 'em.

L. ANNE. [Puzzled] Oh!

[The voice of THE PRESS is heard in the hall. "Where's the little girl?"]

JAMES. That's you. Come 'ere!

[He puts a hand behind LITTLE AIDA'S back and propels her towards the hall. THE PRESS enters with old MRS. LEMMY.]

PRESS. Oh! Here she is, major domo. I'm going to take this old lady to the meeting; they want her on the platform. Look after our friend, Mr. Lemmy here; Lord William wants to see him presently.

L. ANNE. [In an awed whisper] James, it's the little blighter!

[She dives again under the table. LEMMY enters.]

LEMMY. 'Ere! 'Arf a mo'! Yer said yer'd drop me at my plyce. Well, I tell yer candid – this 'yn't my plyce.

PRESS. That's all right, Mr. Lemmy. [He grins] They'll make you wonderfully comfortable, won't you, major domo?

[He passes on through the room, to the door, ushering old MRS. LEMMY and LITTLE AIDA.] [POULDER blocks LEMMY'S way, with CHARLES and HENRY behind him.]

POULDER. James, watch it; I'll report.

[He moves away, following THE PRESS through the door. JAMES between table and window. THOMAS has gone to the door. HENRY and CHARLES remain at the entrances to the hall. LEMMY looks dubiously around, his cockney assurrance gradually returns.]

LEMMY. I think I knows the gas 'ere. This is where I came to-dy, 'yn't it? Excuse my hesitytion – these little 'ouses IS so much the syme.

JAMES. [Gloomily] They are!

LEMMY. [Looking at the four immovable footmen, till he concentrates on JAMES] Ah! I 'ad a word wiv you, 'adn't I? You're the four conscientious ones wot's wyin' on your gov'nor's chest. 'Twas you I spoke to, wasn't it? [His eyes travel over them again] Ye're so monotonous. Well, ye're busy now, I see. I won't wyste yer time.

[He turns towards the hall, but CHARLES and HENRY bar the way in silence.] [Skidding a little, and regarding the four immovables once more]

I never see such pytient men? Compared wiv yer, mountains is restless.

[He goes to the table. JAMES watches him. ANNE barks from underneath.]

[Skidding again] Why! There's a dawg under there. [Noting the grin on THOMAS'S face] Glad it amooses yer. Yer want it, daon't yer, wiv a fyce like that? Is this a ply wivaht words? 'Ave I got into the movies by mistyke? Turn aht, an' let's 'ave six penn'orth o' darkness.

L. ANNE. [From beneath the cable] No, no! Not dark!

LEMMY. [Musingly] The dawg talks anywy. Come aht, Fido!

[LITTLE ANNE emerges, and regards him with burning curiosity.]

I sy: Is this the lytest fashion o' receivin' guests?

L. ANNE. Mother always wants people to feel at home. What shall we do? Would you like to hear the speeches? Thomas, open the door a little, do!

JAMES. 'Umour 'er a couple o' inches, Tommy!

[THOMAS draws the door back stealthily an inch or so.]

L. ANNE. [After applying her eye-in a loud whisper] There's the old lady. Daddy's looking at her trousers. Listen!

[For MRS. LEMMY'S voice is floating faintly through: "I putt in the buttonholes, I stretches the flies; I 'ems the bottoms; I lines the crutch; I putt on this bindin'; I sews on the buttons; I presses the seams – Tuppence three farthin's the pair."]

LEMMY. [In a hoarse whisper] That's it, old lydy: give it 'em!

L. ANNE. Listen!

VOICE OF LORD W. We are indebted to our friends the Press for giving us the pleasure – er – pleasure of hearing from her own lips – the pleasure —

L. ANNE. Oh! Daddy!

[THOMAS abruptly closes the doors.]

LEMMY. [To ANNE] Now yer've done it. See wot comes o' bein' impytient. We was just gettin' to the marrer.

L. ANNE. What can we do for you now?

LEMMY. [Pointing to ANNE, and addressing JAMES] Wot is this one, anywy?

JAMES. [Sepulchrally] Daughter o' the house.

LEMMY. Is she insured agynst 'er own curiosity?

L. ANNE. Why?

LEMMY. As I daon't believe in a life beyond the gryve, I might be tempted to send yer there.

L. ANNE. What is the gryve?

LEMMY. Where little gells goes to.

L. ANNE. Oh, when?

LEMMY. [Pretending to look at a match, which is not there] Well, I dunno if I've got time to finish yer this minute. Sy to-mower at. 'arf past.

L. ANNE. Half past what?

LEMMY. [Despairingly] 'Arf past wot!

[The sound of applause is heard.]

JAMES. That's 'is Grace. 'E's gettin' wickets, too.

[POULDER entering from the door.]

POULDER. Lord William is slippin' in.

[He makes a cabalistic sign with his head. Jeers crosses to the door. LEMMY looks dubiously at POULDER.]

LEMMY. [Suddenly – as to himself] Wot oh! I am the portly one!

POULDER. [Severely] Any such allusion aggeravates your offence.

LEMMY. Oh, ah! Look 'ere, it was a corked bottle. Now, tyke care, tyke care, 'aughty! Daon't curl yer lip! I shall myke a clean breast o' my betryal when the time comes!

[There is a alight movement of the door. ANNE makes a dive towards the table but is arrested by POULDER grasping her waistband. LORD WILLIAM slips in, followed by THE PRESS, on whom JAMES and THOMAS close the door too soon.]

HALF OF THE PRESS. [Indignantly] Look out!

JAMES. Do you want him in or out, me Lord?

LEMMY. I sy, you've divided the Press; 'e was unanimous.

[The FOOTMEN let THE PRESS through.]

LORD W. [To THE PRESS] I'm so sorry.

LEMMY. Would yer like me to see to 'is gas?

LORD W. So you're my friend of the cellars?

LEMMY. [Uneasy] I daon't deny it.

[POULDER begins removing LITTLE ANNE.]

L. ANNE. Let me stay, Daddy; I haven't seen anything yet! If I go, I shall only have to come down again when they loot the house. Listen!

[The hoarse strains of the Marseillaise are again heard from the distance.]

LORD W. [Blandly] Take her up, Poulder!

L. ANNE. Well, I'm coming down again – and next time I shan't have any clothes on, you know.

[They vanish between the pillars. LORD WILLIAM makes a sign of dismissal. The FOOTMAN file out.]

LEMMY. [Admiringly] Luv'ly pyces!

LORD W. [Pleasantly] Now then; let's have our talk, Mr. —

LEMMY. Lemmy.

PRESS. [Who has slipped his note-book out] "Bombed and Bomber face to face – "

LEMMY. [Uneasy] I didn't come 'ere agyne on me own, yer know. The Press betryed me.

LORD W. Is that old lady your mother?

LEMMY. The syme. I tell yer stryte, it was for 'er I took that old bottle o' port. It was orful old.

LORD W. Ah! Port? Probably the '83. Hope you both enjoyed it.

LEMMY. So far-yus. Muvver'll suffer a bit tomower, I expect.

LORD W. I should like to do something for your mother, if you'll allow me.

LEMMY. Oh! I'll allow yer. But I dunno wot she'll sy.

LORD W. I can see she's a fine independent old lady! But suppose you were to pay her ten bob a week, and keep my name out of it?

LEMMY. Well, that's one wy o' YOU doin' somefink, 'yn't it?

LORD W. I giving you the money, of course.

PRESS. [Writing] "Lord William, with kingly generosity – "

LEMMY. [Drawing attention to THE PRESS with his thumb] I sy – I daon't mind, meself – if you daon't —

LORD W. He won't write anything to annoy me.

PRESS. This is the big thing, Lord William; it'll get the public bang in the throat.

LEMMY. [Confidentially] Bit dyngerous, 'yn't it? trustin' the Press? Their right 'ands never knows wot their left 'ands is writin'. [To THE PRESS] 'Yn't that true, speakin' as a man?

PRESS. Mr. Lemmy, even the Press is capable of gratitude.

LEMMY. Is it? I should ha' thought it was too important for a little thing like that. [To LORD WILLIAM] But ye're quite right; we couldn't do wivaht the Press – there wouldn't be no distress, no coffin, no revolution – 'cos nobody'd know nuffin' abaht it. Why! There wouldn't be no life at all on Earf in these dyes, wivaht the Press! It's them wot says: "Let there be Light – an' there is Light."

LORD W. Umm! That's rather a new thought to me. [Writes on his cuff.]

LEMMY. But abaht Muvver, I'll tell yer 'ow we can arrynge. You send 'er the ten bob a week wivaht syin' anyfink, an' she'll fink it comes from Gawd or the Gover'ment yer cawn't tell one from t'other in Befnal Green.

LORD W. All right; we'll' do that.

LEMMY. Will yer reely? I'd like to shyke yer 'and.

[LORD WILLIAM puts out his hand, which LEMMY grasps.]

PRESS. [Writing] "The heartbeat of humanity was in that grasp between the son of toil and the son of leisure."

LEMMY. [Already ashamed of his emotion] 'Ere, 'arf a mo'! Which is which? Daon't forget I'm aht o' wori; Lord William, if that's 'is nyme, is workin 'ard at 'is Anti-Sweats! Wish I could get a job like vat – jist suit me!

LORD W. That hits hard, Mr. Lemmy.

LEMMY. Daon't worry! Yer cawn't 'elp bein' born in the purple!

LORD W. Ah! Tell me, what would you do in my place?

LEMMY. Why – as the nobleman said in 'is well-known wy: "Sit in me Club winder an' watch it ryne on the dam people!" That's if I was a average nobleman! If I was a bit more noble, I might be tempted to come the kind'earted on twenty thou' a year. Some prefers yachts, or ryce 'orses. But philanthropy on the 'ole is syfer, in these dyes.

LORD W. So you think one takes to it as a sort of insurance, Mr. Lemmy? Is that quite fair?

LEMMY. 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. But, d – it, man, there we should be, all together! Would that help?

LEMMY. Nao; but it'd syve a lot o' blood.

[LORD WILLIAM stops abruptly, and looks first at LEMMY, then at the cooler, still cohered with the Chinese mat.]

Yer thought the Englishman could be taught to shed blood wiv syfety. Not 'im! Once yer git 'im into an 'abit, yer cawn't git 'im out of it agyne. 'E'll go on sheddin' blood mechanical – Conservative by nyture. An' 'e won't myke nuffin' o' yours. Not even the Press wiv 'is 'oneyed words'll sty 'is 'and.

LORD W. And what do you suggest we could have done, to avoid trouble?

LEMMY. [Warming to his theme] I'll tell yer. If all you wealfy nobs wiv kepitel 'ad come it kind from the start after the war yer'd never 'a been 'earin' the Marseillaisy naow. Lord! 'Ow you did talk abaht Unity and a noo spirit in the Country. Noo spirit! Why, soon as ever there was no dynger from outside, yer stawted to myke it inside, wiv an iron'and. Naow, you've been in the war an' it's given yer a feelin' 'eart; but most of the nobs wiv kepitel was too old or too important to fight. They weren't born agyne. So naow that bad times is come, we're 'owlin' for their blood.

LORD W. I quite agree; I quite agree. I've often said much the same thing.

LEMMY. Voice cryin' in the wilderness – I daon't sy we was yngels – there was faults on bofe sides. [He looks at THE PRESS] The Press could ha' helped yer a lot. Shall I tell yer wot the Press did? "It's vital," said the Press, "that the country should be united, or it will never recover." Nao strikes, nao 'omen nature, nao nuffink. Kepitel an' Lybour like the Siamese twins. And, fust dispute that come along, the Press orfs wiv its coat an' goes at it bald'eaded. An' wot abaht since? Sich a riot o' nymes called, in Press – and Pawlyement. Unpatriotic an' outrygeous demands o' lybour. Blood-suckin' tyranny o' Kepitel; thieves an' dawgs an 'owlin Jackybines – gents throwin' books at each other; all the resources of edjucytion exhausted! If I'd bin Prime Minister I'd 'ave 'ad the Press's gas cut 'orf at the meter. Puffect liberty, of course, nao Censorship; just sy wot yer like – an' never be 'eard of no more.