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.