TIM. Bedad I do, sir. Take all you can out of Ireland and spend it in England: that's it.
BROADBENT [not quite liking this]. My plan, sir, will be to take a little money out of England and spend it in Ireland.
TIM. More power to your elbow! an may your shadda never be less! for you're the broth of a boy intirely. An how can I help you? Command me to the last dhrop o me blood.
BROADBENT. Have you ever heard of Garden City?
TIM [doubtfully]. D'ye mane Heavn?
BROADBENT. Heaven! No: it's near Hitchin. If you can spare half an hour I'll go into it with you.
TIM. I tell you hwat. Gimme a prospectus. Lemme take it home and reflect on it.
BROADBENT. You're quite right: I will. [He gives him a copy of Mr Ebenezer Howard's book, and several pamphlets]. You understand that the map of the city—the circular construction—is only a suggestion.
TIM. I'll make a careful note o that [looking dazedly at the map].
BROADBENT. What I say is, why not start a Garden City in Ireland?