LADY UTTERWORD. Really, Randall!
HECTOR. It seems to me that we shall have to take up a collection
for this inopportunely contrite sinner.
LADY UTTERWORD. But twenty pounds is ridiculous.
THE BURGLAR [looking up quickly]. I shall have to buy a lot of
tools, lady.
LADY UTTERWORD. Nonsense: you have your burgling kit.
THE BURGLAR. What's a jimmy and a centrebit and an acetylene
welding plant and a bunch of skeleton keys? I shall want a forge,
and a smithy, and a shop, and fittings. I can't hardly do it for
twenty.
HECTOR. My worthy friend, we haven't got twenty pounds.
THE BURGLAR [now master of the situation]. You can raise it among
you, can't you?
MRS HUSHABYE. Give him a sovereign, Hector, and get rid of him.
HECTOR [giving him a pound]. There! Off with you.
THE BURGLAR [rising and taking the money very ungratefully]. I
won't promise nothing. You have more on you than a quid: all the
lot of you, I mean.
LADY UTTERWORD [vigorously]. Oh, let us prosecute him and have
done with it. I have a conscience too, I hope; and I do not feel
at all sure that we have any right to let him go, especially if
he is going to be greedy and impertinent.
THE BURGLAR [quickly]. All right, lady, all right. I've no wish
to be anything but agreeable.
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