| Title | The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists |
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| Page | 738 |
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| Chapter | -- |
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| Text |
Oh, of course everybody's an idjit except you,' sneered Crass, who was beginning to feel rather fogged. `I rise to a pint of order,' said Easton. `And I rise to order a pint,' cried Philpot. `Order what the bloody 'ell you like,' remarked Harlow, `so long as I 'aven't got to pay for it.' `Mine's a pint of porter,' observed the man on the pail. `The pint is,' proceeded Easton, `when does the lecturer intend to explain to us what is the real cause of poverty.' `'Ear, 'ear,' cried Harlow. `That's what I want to know, too.' `And what I should like to know is, who is |
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