Bulger. I’d as soon have a room over a boiler shop as in this infernal little hotel. First-class—oh, what a liar this landlord is.
Leggatt. My dear sir, your attitude toward Boniface is hardly justifiable. Landlords indulge in hyperbole.
Bulger. Hyperbole! What is that?
Leggatt. It is the faculty of not letting a statement lack strength.
Bulger. Well, I must say this landlord’s statements are very robust.
Leggatt. Neatly put, Bulger. I believe you cultivate literature yourself. You should at any rate. Literature—
Bulger. (Walking floor.) Literature be d—d.
Leggatt. My dear sir, you wont sleep at all if you go on at that rate. Since you decline to join me in a pipe let me read a chapter of Squibbs’ last novel to you; that’ll do the business.
Bulger. (Pausing in front of L.’s cot.) Read Squibbs to me! At midnight, in a strange hotel! Preposterous!