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Quinn interrupted. "You don't make friends with Englishmen ... you make money out of them. That's all they're fit for!" He began to laugh when he said that, but Henry still scowled. "I hate to hear you talking like that, father!" he said. "I know you don't mean it...." "Don't I, begod?..." "No, you don't, but even in fun, I hate to hear you saying it. I like English people.
"Oh, him in a bob-tailed evening suit, on the lardy-da!" sneered Dawes, jerking his head contemptuously at Paul. "That's comin' it strong," said the mutual friend. "Tart an' all?" "Tart, begod!" said Dawes. "Go on; let's have it!" cried the mutual friend. "You've got it," said Dawes, "an' I reckon Morelly had it an' all." "Well, I'll be jiggered!" said the mutual friend.
Quinn said, gripping the young man's hand and wringing it heartily. "I like him," he added, turning to Ernest Harper, "an' he'll be good for Henry, an' I daresay I'll be good for him. You've an awful lot of slummage in your skull," he continued, addressing Marsh again, "but begod I'll clear that out!" "Slummage?" Marsh asked questioningly. "Aye. Do you not know what slummage is?"
They saw their own countrymen who had been fighting for them, starving, and they let them starve!..." It was the same everywhere. "I never pass a patch of allotments," he said, "without thinkin' that their mean, ugly, little look is just like a peasant's mind, an' begod I'm glad when I'm past them an' can see wide lands again!" Peasants were greedy, narrow, unimaginative, lacking in public spirit.
You see her lights shinin' in the dark a long way off, but you can't see her, except mebbe the foam she makes, an' begod you near want to cry. That's the way it affects me anyway.... Henry, if you ever get into any bother over the head of a woman, you'll tell me, won't you, an' I'll stan' by you!" He said this so suddenly, coming close to Henry as he said it, that Henry was startled.
But I know that if I let myself do things that I can control, I'll be givin' an example to hundreds of other people who aren't gentlemen an' can't control themselves ... don't know when to stop an' when to go on ... an' so I don't do them. An' that's a gentleman's job, John Marsh, an' when gentlemen stop that, then begod it's good-bye to a decent community.
Three times a day the black billies and cloudy nose-bags are placed on the table. The men eat in a casual kind of way, as though it were only a custom of theirs, a matter of form a habit which could be left off if it were worth while. The Exception is heard to remark to no one in particular that he'll give all he has for a square meal. "An' ye'd get it cheap, begod!" says a big Irish shearer.
"The British people are the best people in the world, an' the Irish people are the best people in the British Empire, an' the Ulster people are the best people in Ireland!" He glanced about him for a few moments as if he were cogitating, and then he gave a chuckle and winked at his son. "An' begod," he said, "I sometimes think I'm the best man in Ulster!"
"Just th' last one ye'd think av suspectin'. An' Gully, begod, sittin' right there! . . . talk 'bout nerve! . . ." "But, good heavens!" burst out Yorke. "Whoever would have suspected him?" He laughed a trifle bitterly. "It's all very well for us to turn round now and say 'what fools we've been, and all that.
He's just at the age when women begin to matter to a man, an' I don't want him to go an' get into any bother over the head of them!" "Bother?" "Aye. Do you never think about women, John Marsh?" "Oh, yes. Sometimes. One can't help it now and then!..." "No, begod, one can't!" Mr. Quinn exclaimed.
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