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places with you, sonny.
HECTOR. You would, eh? That's what they all say! Four new plays this week, my lad--one yesterday, one to-day--another to-morrow, and the night after! All day long I'm reading plays--and I spend my nights seeing 'em! D'you know I read about two thousand a year? Divide two thousand by three hundred and sixty five. A dog's life--that's what it is!
WALTER. Better than being a stockbroker's clerk--you believe _me!_
HECTOR. Is it? I wish you could have a turn at it, my bonny boy! Your hair'd go grey, like mine! And look here--what are the plays to-day? They're either so chock-full of intellect that they send you to sleep--or they reek of sentiment till you yearn for the smell of a cabbage!
WALTER. Well, you've the change, at any rate.
HECTOR. [_Snorting._] Change? By Jove, give me a Punch and Judy show on the sands--or performing dogs! Plays--I'm sick of 'em! And look here--the one I'm off to to-night. It's adapted from the French--well, we know what that means. Husband, wife and mistress. Or wife, husband, lover. That's what a French play means. And you make it English, and pass the Censor, by putting the lady in a mackintosh, and dumping in a curate!
BETTY. [_Coming in, and closing the door leading to the dining-room._] You ought to be going, Hector.
[_She, stands listening for a moment, then goes through the other door into the hall._
HECTOR. [_Disregarding her, too intent on his theme._] And I tell you, of the two, I prefer the home-made stodge. I'm sick of the eternal triangle. They always do the same thing. Husband strikes attitudes--sometimes he strikes the lover. The lover never stands up to him--why shouldn't he? He would--in real life. [BETTY _comes back, with his overcoat and muffler--she proceeds affectionately to wrap this round his neck, and helps him on with his coat, he talking all the time._] He'd say, look here, you go to Hell. _That's_ what he'd say--well, there you'd have a situation.