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One always finds something that bears on the situation. "Ahab and Istemo and Anim, Goson and Olon and Gilo, eleven cities and their villages. Arab, and Ruma, and Esaau " Thy eyes are dove's eyes, besides what is hid within. Thy hair is as flocks of goats which come up from Mount Galaad Hm! Rather a coarse passage...." ALL: It's damp! It won't work! Jazz! MR. ICKY: Good-by....
Now I claimed that Jack Dempsey would take one He wouldn't have a ULSA: Then I love you again. MR. ICKY: So I'm going to lose my little daughter... ULSA: You've still got a houseful of children, I'm going to sea! CHARLES: I've been reading "Conrad." "Two Years Before the Mast," by Henry James. CHARLES: What? PETER: Walter Pater's version of "Robinson Crusoe." I want to live my life.
Near him on the grass lies PETER, a little boy. PETER, of course, has his chin on his palm like the pictures of the young Sir Walter Raleigh. He has a complete set of features, including serious, sombre, even funereal, gray eyes and radiates that alluring air of never having eaten food. This air can best be radiated during the afterglow of a beef dinner. Be is looking at MR. ICKY, fascinated.
DIVINE: At Eton I was a member at Pop; at Rugby I belonged to Near-beer. As a younger son I was destined for the police force MR. ICKY: Skip that.... Have you money?... DIVINE: Wads of it. I should expect Ulsa to go down town in sections every morning in two Rolls Royces. I have also a kiddy-car and a converted tank. I have seats at the opera And I've heard that you were cashiered from your club.
ANOTHER CHILD: I care not who hoes the lettuce of my country if I can eat the salad! ALL: Life! Psychic Research! Jazz! That's all there is. It's not life that counts, it's the quaintness you bring to it.... ALL: We're going to slide down the Riviera. We've got tickets for Piccadilly Circus. Life! Jazz! MR. ICKY: Wait. Let me read to you from the Bible. Let me open it at random.
MR. ICKY: Tut-tut! ... One should not judge ... Charity, my girl. What was it Nero said? "With malice toward none, with charity toward all " PETER: That wasn't Nero. That was John Drinkwater. MR. ICKY: Come! Who is this Frank? Who is this Jack? ULSA: Dempsey. DIVINE: We were arguing that if they were deadly enemies and locked in a room together which one would come out alive.
I want to hunt eels. MR. ICKY: I will be here... when you come back.... I understand. To understand is to forgive. MR. ICKY: No...no....We never forgive those we can understand....We can only forgive those who wound us for no reason at all.... And, anyway, I hate the hours around here. I've been too kind. Spare the rod and spoil the fun. Oh, for the glands of a Bismarck.
MR. ICKY, quaintly dressed in the costume of an Elizabethan peasant, is pottering and doddering among the pots and dods. He is an old man, well past the prime of life, no longer young, From the fact that there is a burr in his speech and that he has absent-mindedly put on his coat wrongside out, we surmise that he is either above or below the ordinary superficialities of life.
PETER: And it renovated you? MR. ICKY: Renovated me! It put the Old Nick back into me! This young criminal was evidently a suburban burglar and a kleptomaniac. What was a little playful arson in comparison! Science is the bunk. 'Tisn't every one who has to tire out two sets o' glands in his lifetime. I wouldn't take another set for all the animal spirits in an orphan asylum.
You may tickle my head, you may tickle my heel, But please don't tickle my toes! Oh, grin with your innery chin, And sneeze with your ozery nose, And cry with your wipery eye, But please don't tickle my toes! I'll grin, tee-hee! and I'll cry, boo-hoo! And I'll sneeze, icky chow! icky-chose! And I'll squeal just as loud, Oh, Lullymaloo! Whenever you tickle my toes!
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