Charles: (To his feyther) I can’t stay here and rot with you. I want to live my life. I want to hunt eels.
Mr. Icky: I will be here... when you come back....
Charles: (Contemptuously) Why, the worms are licking their chops already when they hear your name.
(It will be noticed that some of the characters have not spoken for some time. It will improve the technique if they can be rendering a spirited saxophone number.)
Mr. Icky: (Mournfully) These vales, these hills, these McCormick harvesters—they mean nothing to my children. I understand.
Charles: (More gently) Then you’ll think of me kindly, feyther. 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....
Charles: (Impatiently) I’m so beastly sick of your human nature line. And, anyway, I hate the hours around here.
(Several dozen more of Mr. Icky’s children trip out of the house, trip over the grass, and trip over the pots and dods. They are muttering “We are going away,” and “We are leaving you.”)
Mr. Icky: (His heart breaking) They’re all deserting me. I’ve been too kind. Spare the rod and spoil the fun. Oh, for the glands of a Bismarck.