Mr. Joyce. Indeed I do not.
Mrs. Ruttledge. I should think you could be cheerful without ceasing to be a gentleman.
Paul Ruttledge. You are thinking of my clothes. We must feel at ease with the people we live amongst. I shall feel at ease with the great multitude in these clothes. I am beginning to be a man of the world. I am the beggarman of all the ages—I have a notion Homer wrote something about me.
Mr. Dowler. He is either making fun of us or talking great rot. I can't listen to any more of this nonsense. I can't see why a man with property can't let well alone. Algie are you coming my way?
[They both go into the house, and come out presently with umbrella and coat.
Mr. Green. Depend upon it, he's going to write a book. There was a man who made quite a name for himself by sleeping in a casual ward.
Paul Ruttledge. Oh! no, I'm not going to write about it; if one writes one can do nothing else. I am going to express myself in life. [To Thomas Ruttledge who has returned with box.] I hope soon to live by the work of my hands, but every trade has to be learned, and I must take something to start with. [To Mrs. Ruttledge.] Do you think you will have any kettles to mend when I come this way again?
[He has taken box from Thomas Ruttledge and unlocked it.
Thomas Ruttledge. I can't make head or tail of what you are at.
Colonel Lawley. What he is at is fads.