WELLWYN. [Shaking his head.] Afraid not, Timson! Awfully sorry,
though, to have nothing better for you than this, at present.
TIMSON. [Faintly waving the brushes.] Of course, if you can't
afford it, I don't press you--it's only that I feel I'm not doing
meself justice. [Confidentially.] There's just one thing, sir; I
can't bear to see a gen'leman imposed on. That foreigner--'e's not
the sort to 'ave about the place. Talk? Oh! ah! But 'e'll never
do any good with 'imself. He's a alien.
WELLWYN. Terrible misfortune to a fellow, Timson.
TIMSON. Don't you believe it, sir; it's his fault I says to the
young lady yesterday: Miss Ann, your father's a gen'leman [with a
sudden accent of hoarse sincerity], and so you are--I don't mind
sayin' it--but, I said, he's too easy-goin'.
WELLWYN. Indeed!
TIMSON. Well, see that girl now! [He shakes his head.] I never did
believe in goin' behind a person's back--I'm an Englishman--but
[lowering his voice] she's a bad hat, sir. Why, look at the street
she comes from!
WELLWYN. Oh! you know it.
TIMSON. Lived there meself larst three years. See the difference a
few days' corn's made in her. She's that saucy you can't touch 'er
head.
WELLWYN. Is there any necessity, Timson?
TIMSON. Artful too. Full o' vice, I call'er. Where's 'er 'usband?
WELLWYN. [Gravely.] Come, Timson! You wouldn't like her to----
TIMSON. [With dignity, so that the bottle in his pocket is plainly
visible.
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