That chap's wasted as a curate. (Sits.) He's beaten me! Me licked by a bricking curate!
Al. But I don't understand.
Ste. Oh, he got hold of our company idea, told Sir Charles and smashed our plans. That's all. Nothing very serious. We're out of pocket for a few expenses that won't hurt any of us, and we've missed a good piece of plunder. Well, the thing to do now is to turn round and do the handsome over that recreation ground. Our idea for the benefit of the town! My negotiations with the Polygon! If we can't get cash by it, gentlemen, let us get credit.
Smiths.. And what about the rates?
Ste. Well, what about them? More fresh air, less ill health. Less ill health, less poverty. Less poverty, fewer paupers. That recreation ground 'ull pay for itself in less than no time. If there's going to be any barging about the rates we'll raise the money by subscription, and for two pins I'll head the list myself.
Al. It's a queer finish to our plans.
Ste. It is a finish, Alcorn. We're knocked out, and we've got to take it with a big, broad smile and nobody will even so much as guess we've meant anything but the square thing all the time.
Bam. That curate 'ull talk. Curates are always talking.
Ste. No, he won't.
Bam. You can't stop an old woman gossiping. Gab's a parson's stock-in-trade.