] All dat don't
count, get me?
LONG--[Who has moved to the furriers--indignantly.] And I s'pose
this 'ere don't count neither--skins of poor, 'armless animals
slaughtered so as 'er and 'ers can keep their bleedin' noses warm!
YANK--[Who has been staring at something inside--with queer
excitement.] Take a slant at dat! Give it de once-over! Monkey
fur--two t'ousand bucks! [Bewilderedly.] Is dat straight goods--
monkey fur? What de hell--?
LONG--[Bitterly.] It's straight enuf. [With grim humor.] They
wouldn't bloody well pay that for a 'airy ape's skin--no, nor for
the 'ole livin' ape with all 'is 'ead, and body, and soul thrown
in!
YANK--[Clenching his fists, his face growing pale with rage as if
the skin in the window were a personal insult.] Trowin' it up in
my face! Christ! I'll fix her!
LONG--[Excitedly.] Church is out. 'Ere they come, the bleedin'
swine. [After a glance at Yank's lowering face--uneasily.] Easy
goes, Comrade. Keep yer bloomin' temper. Remember force defeats
itself. It ain't our weapon. We must impress our demands through
peaceful means--the votes of the on-marching proletarians of the
bloody world!
YANK--[With abysmal contempt.] Votes, hell! Votes is a joke, see.
Votes for women! Let dem do it!
LONG--[Still more uneasily.
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