And while gals is gals the old Eve'll jest make the new evil seem rot."
The jawsome old guffin wos right, Charlie; leastways, she wosn't fur out.
Yer female footballers and bikers, as swagger and go on the shout,
And spile a good sport and their hancles, are not more complete off the track
Than them as "revolt"—agin Nature, and cock their she-bokos—at fack!
All splutter-sludge, Charlie! On styge or on cinder-path, sillypop things
As want to play Man and be Woman are trying to fly without wings,
Or fight without fistes. Are Men, the world's masters—like you, mate, and Me—
To be knocked out by probblems in petticoats? Wot bloomin' fiddle-de-dee!
The Old Dutch, and young Lil, and myself are all much of a mind on this job.