‘Who says that?’ asked Darco.
‘I do,’ said Paul.
‘It is a ferry coot ebicram,’ said Darco. ‘I vill rememper id. But, mindt you, to be squeamish is not to be glean-minded.
If a sdory is vunny, I laugh. Vy not? If a man tells me a sdory that is only dirdy, I co someveres else. I am a goot man. For dwendy-three hours and fifty-eight minutes in a tay I am as bure-minded as a child; then, in the ott dwo minutes somepoty tells me a dirdy sdory. I laugh, and I go avay, and I think of my blays and my boedry and my pusiness. It is water on a duck’s pack.’
‘Dirty water,’ said Paul.
‘There is enough glean water in the tay’s rainfall to wash it off,’ Darco answered. ‘Did you efer read “The Orichinal”?
‘No,’ said Paul.
‘The man who wrote it vos so healthy that he nefer hat need to wash himself. His skin was too bure to hold dirt.’
‘Filthy beggar!’ said Paul.
‘I make it a baraple,’ Darco declared. ‘Id is true of the immordal soul. I am as bure-minded as a child, and I haf heardt den thousand fillainous sdories. Vot does it madder?’