LEMMY. [Dubious] Wot abaht 'em? I s'pose ye're on the comic pypers? 'Ave yer noticed wot a weakness they 'ave for the 'orrible?
PRESS. [Writing] "A grim humour peeped out here and there through the earnestness of his talk."
[He sketches LEMMY'S profile.]
LEMMY. We 'ad an explosion in my factory time o' the war, that would just ha' done for you comics. [He meditates] Lord! They was after it too,—they an' the Sundyes; but the Censor did 'em. Strike me, I could tell yer things!
PRESS. That's what I want, Mr. Lemmy; tell me things!
LEMMY. [Musing] It's a funny world, 'yn't it? 'Ow we did blow each other up! [Getting up to admire] I sy, I shall be syfe there. That won't betry me anonymiety. Why! I looks like the Prime Minister!
PRESS. [Rather hurt] You were going to tell me things.
LEMMY. Yus, an' they'll be the troof, too.
PRESS. I hope so; we don't——
LEMMY. Wot oh!