(Jim indicates door.)
Yes. Aw'm going. My keb 'ull carry me to London now (moves a bit towards door), and yer rowds reek of kids. Aw've killed none yet and aw don't want to. Aw reckon 'oss kebs are good enough for Carrington. P'raps they train 'em to step loightly on the kids or else they're funeral 'osses in their spare toime and never learn to go faster.
Ste. (almost frenzied). You... insolent... Cockney... cad.
Chauff. (crossing back to Stephen). Foine language from a tahn alderman with the Church lookin' on an' all. Aw am among the nobs. Abart toime aw cleared when a tahn 'as a bally hobject the loikes of you for an alderman. Aw wouldn't be seen droiv-ing yer not for a quid a moile and disinfectin' free.
(Stephen looks pugnacious. Walter steps between them.)
Walter. If you're going to London, Mr. Walker—I think you said Walker—hadn't you better go?
Chauff. (at door). Yus, and aw'll droive quick for once through Carrington and charnce it. The kids 'ad better look aloive. (Looking back at Stephen.) Aw'll tell 'em when aw droive into the old garage in the Westminster Rowd abaht meetin' a real loive alderman. They'll be sending rand from Fleet Street to interview me abaht it.
(Exit Chauffeur, leaving door open.)
Jim (closing door—to Walter). I'm sorry you've been spoken to like that in my room, sir. Civil tongues don't cost nothing.
Walter (smiling). That's a type of modern progress. The new man, Mr. Pilling.