"I'm swoppin' with another boy (EDDUDS 'is nime is) up fur end o' this
street. 'E ain't so perticler as I am. Clerks lives there mostly, an'
the biz ain't so good as it was in my old plice. Them clerks wears
top-'ats, an' consequently they daren't smoke pipes. They cawn't
afford to smoke cigars, and cigarettes is off'rin' eyep'ny oices to a
stawvin' man. So they don't smoke at all, an' don't want no matches.
An' I don't blime 'em, mind yer. Pussonally, I chews--but if I smoked
a pipe I wouldn't do it with one o' them 'ats on. 'Cos why? 'Cos I
believes in a bit o' style. Not that I'm stuck-up as yer might say,
but I don't see no sense in lettin' myself down. If I'd liked I could
'a made it so 'ot fur thet newspiper boy that 'e'd 'ave 'ad to go. I
could 'a mopped up the puddles with 'im if I'd wanted. But I wouldn't.
I wouldn't conterminate myself by so much as 'avin' a word with 'im.
I'd sooner leave--even if I lose money on it. My father were one
for style too, afore 'is shop bust. Thet's 'ow it is, yer see. Some
goes up, and some goes down. We've come down, but I draws the line
somewheer fur all thet--sure's my name's REGGERNALD. An' what do you
think?"
I told him that I was rather inclined to think that he was an idiot,
and tried to show him why he was an idiot. But he would not be
convinced. Class prejudice was strong within 'im.
"Look 'ere," he said, "you may think I'm young to be a'visin' o' you,
Sir. But jest mark my words--you cawn' be too keerful what comp'ny
yer gits familyer with. I gits off 'ere. All--right, kinducter, yer
needn't stop."
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