JOHNNY. _[stung into sudden violence]_ Now you keep a civil tongue in your head. I'll stand none of your snobbery. I'm just as proud of Tarleton's Underwear as you are of your father's title and his K.C.B., and all the rest of it. My father began in a little hole of a shop in Leeds no bigger than our pantry down the passage there. He-- BENTLEY. Oh yes: I know. Ive read it. "The Romance of Business, or The Story of Tarleton's Underwear. Please Take One!" I took one the day after I first met Hypatia. I went and bought half a dozen unshrinkable vests for her sake. JOHNNY. Well: did they shrink? BENTLEY. Oh, dont be a fool. JOHNNY. Never mind whether I'm a fool or not. Did they shrink? Thats the point. Were they worth the money? BENTLEY. I couldnt wear them: do you think my skin's as thick as your customers' hides? I'd as soon have dressed myself in a nutmeg grater. JOHNNY. Pity your father didnt give your thin skin a jolly good lacing with a cane--! BENTLEY. Pity you havnt got more than one idea! If you want to know, they did try that on me once, when I was a small kid. A silly governess did it. I yelled fit to bring down the house and went into convulsions and brain fever and that sort of thing for three weeks. So the old girl got the sack; and serve her right! After that, I was let do what I like. My father didnt want me to grow up a broken-spirited spaniel, which is your idea of a man, I suppose. JOHNNY. Jolly good thing for you that my father made you come into the office and shew what you were made of. And it didnt come to much: let me tell you that. When the Governor asked me where I thought we ought to put you, I said, "Make him the Office Boy." The Governor said you were too green. And so you were. BENTLEY. I daresay. So would you be pretty green if you were shoved into my father's set. I picked up your silly business in a fortnight. Youve been at it ten years; and you havnt picked it up yet. JOHNNY. Dont talk rot, child. You know you simply make me pity you. BENTLEY. "Romance of Business" indeed! The real romance of Tarleton's business is the story that you understand anything about it. You never could explain any mortal thing about it to me when I asked you. "See what was done the last time": that was the beginning and the end of your wisdom. Youre nothing but a turnspit. JOHNNY. A what! BENTLEY. A turnspit. If your father hadnt made a roasting jack for you to turn, youd be earning twenty-four shillings a week behind a counter. JOHNNY. If you dont take that back and apologize for your bad manners, I'll give you as good a hiding as ever-- BENTLEY. Help! Johnny's beating me! Oh! Murder! _[He throws himself on the ground, uttering piercing yells]._ JOHNNY. Dont be a fool. Stop that noise, will you. I'm not going to touch you. Sh--sh--