Pygmalion

by George Bernard Shaw

Ow, eez ye-ooa san, is e? Wal, fewd dan y‘de-ooty bawmz a mather should, eed now bettern to spawl a pore gel’s flahrzn than ran awy athaht pyin. Will ye-oo py me f’them?

keep your impertinent remarks to yourself. THE NOTE TAKER: Did I say that out loud? I didn’t mean to. I beg your pardon. Your mother’s Epsom, unmistakeably. THE MOTHER (advancing between her daughter and THE NOTE TAKER): How very curious! I was brought up in Largelady Park, near Epsom. THE NOTE TAKER (uproariously amused): Ha! ha! What a devil of a name! Excuse me. (To THE DAUGHTER) You want a cab, do you? THE DAUGHTER: Dont dare speak to me. THE MOTHER: Oh please, please, Clara. (Her daughter repudiates her with an angry shrug and retires haughtily). We should be so grateful to you, sir, if you found us a cab. (THE NOTE TAKER produces a whistle). Oh, thank you. (She joins her daughter). (THE NOTE TAKER blows a piercing blast.)

PICKERING

HIGGINS:

Did you or did you not write a letter to an old blighter in America that was giving five millions to found Moral Reform Societies all over the world, and that wanted you to invent a universal language for him?

What is happening? Why is he mad about?