“You kin mike yors’ff hunderstood, hall raight,” interposed the linguist. “Were you ever in London.”
“Oh, yes,” answered my cousin slowly, counting off upon his fingers. “Alzoo—von—two—tree—time—Mooch peoples—in Londe.”
“Did you like London?” queried Truculence Senior.
“Londe?—No! No—boddy like Londe.—Fery ugly! Mooch smoke—alzoo fogk.—Men see nozzing. Mooch poor peoples—No boots.”
“Not like London!! Why London’s the gritest city in the wu’ld.”
“I pity me mooch—for London peoples.”
“Let’m aleoun, gov’ner,” said the linguist, furious. “It’s the Heast End ’e’s got in ’is ’ed.”
“But the Heouses ’v Pawl’mint—and the Tride?” reasoned the father, reluctant to abandon the controversy.
“Houses Parliament?—nozzing!” said Terence recklessly. “Trade?—alzoo nozzing! American man hef all ze trade. Fery clever. Alzoo German man. Fery clever.”
WAKE UP, JOHN BULL.