JOHNNY. _[collaring him]._ No: you dont run away. I'm going to have this out with you. Sit down: d'y' hear? _[Bentley attempts to go with dignity. Johnny slings him into a chair at the writing table, where he sits, bitterly humiliated, but afraid to speak lest he should burst into tears]._ Thats the advantage of having more body than brains, you see: it enables me to teach you manners; and I'm going to do it too. Youre a spoilt young pup; and you need a jolly good licking. And if youre not careful youll get it: I'll see to that next time you call me a swine. BENTLEY. I didnt call you a swine. But _[bursting into a fury of tears]_ you are a swine: youre a beast: youre a brute: youre a cad: youre a liar: youre a bully: I should like to wring your damned neck for you. JOHNNY. _[with a derisive laugh]_ Try it, my son. _[Bentley gives an inarticulate sob of rage]._ Fighting isnt in your line. Youre too small and youre too childish. I always suspected that your cleverness wouldnt come to very much when it was brought up against something solid: some decent chap's fist, for instance. BENTLEY. I hope your beastly fist may come up against a mad bull or a prizefighter's nose, or something solider than me. I dont care about your fist; but if everybody here dislikes me-- _[he is checked by a sob]._ Well, I dont care. _[Trying to recover himself]_ I'm sorry I intruded: I didnt know. _[Breaking down again]_ Oh you beast! you pig! Swine, swine, swine, swine, swine! Now! JOHNNY. All right, my lad, all right. Sling your mud as hard as you please: it wont stick to me. What I want to know is this. How is it that your father, who I suppose is the strongest man England has produced in our time-- BENTLEY. You got that out of your halfpenny paper. A lot you know about him! JOHNNY. I dont set up to be able to do anything but admire him and appreciate him and be proud of him as an Englishman. If it wasnt for my respect for him, I wouldnt have stood your cheek for two days, let alone two months. But what I cant understand is why he didnt lick it out of you when you were a kid. For twenty-five years he kept a place twice as big as England in order: a place full of seditious coffee-colored heathens and pestilential white agitators in the middle of a lot of savage tribes. And yet he couldnt keep you in order. I dont set up to be half the man your father undoubtedly is; but, by George, it's lucky for you you were not my son. I dont hold with my own father's views about corporal punishment being wrong. It's necessary for some people; and I'd have tried it on you until you first learnt to howl and then to behave yourself. BENTLEY. _[contemptuously]_ Yes: behavior wouldnt come naturally to your son, would it?