“I feel exactly as if I was in a lunatic asylum,” he said.
“You are: in the room where the violent cases are put. This is the padded room.”
Birds squinted horribly, and with his beautiful mouth open and his tongue hanging out, began to count the fingers of one hand with those of the other. With his yellow hair falling over his forehead and his college cap perched on the back of his head, and his insane attire, he looked madder than anything in Bedlam.
“Oh, stop it,” said Badders. “You’ll give me nightmare.”
“I’m one myself. But as we’ve disposed of my grandmother, who is she? Is she a shop-girl or a flower-girl or a barmaid?”
“None. She’s a lady.”
“I see. Tobacconist’s girl was a perfect lady: you often told me so,” said Jim. “Of the two, I think the imperfect kind is the best. They aren’t so damned refined.”
“You two fellows are absolutely idiotic,” said Badders. “There’s no point in anything unless a girl comes into it somehow. I shall go to bed.”
“Do,” said Birds cordially. “And mind you either slam the door or leave it open. Open or slammed: don’t shut it properly whatever happens.”
After this Badsley could hardly do less than slam the door first, and then throw it wide open. So Jim threw a cushion at it which shut it again.