RANKIN. His agent, or mate: I don't rightly know which.
LADY CICELY. Oh, if he has a mate named Felix Drinkwater, it must be quite a respectable crew. It is such a nice name.
RANKIN. You saw him here just now. He is a convert of mine.
LADY CICELY (delighted). That nice truthful sailor!
SIR HOWARD (horrified). What! The Hooligan!
RANKIN (puzzled). Hooligan? No, my lord: he is an Englishman.
SIR HOWARD. My dear Mr. Rankin, this man was tried before me on a charge of street ruffianism.
RANKIN. So he told me. He was badly broat up, I am afraid. But he is now a converted man.
LADY CICELY. Of course he is. His telling you so frankly proves it. You know, really, Howard, all those poor people whom you try are more sinned against than sinning. If you would only talk to them in a friendly way instead of passing cruel sentences on them, you would find them quite nice to you. (Indignantly) I won't have this poor man trampled on merely because his mother brought him up as a Hooligan. I am sure nobody could be nicer than he was when he spoke to us.
SIR HOWARD. In short, we are to have an escort of Hooligans commanded by a filibuster. Very well, very well. You will most likely admire all their faces; and I have no doubt at all that they will admire yours.