The Kerbstone Club

" 'Ealth week!" said the man with the
dirty face. "'Ealth week! Ar, it gives
me a pain! People ain't got enough
work to do; that's wot's the matter;
or they wouldn't be gettin' these 'ere
fads."

"Why not?" asked the man with the
red nose. " 'Be clean.' Ain't that a
good motter?"

The man with the dirty face regard-
ed his friend suspiciously. "No it ain't,"
he replied—"not always. Wot's the
good of tellin' a coal lumper to be
clean? It ain't in reason. Besides,
too much washin' injures the 'uman
skin. I read that in print."

"Aw, 'ave a bath," said the man
with the red nose.

"'Ealth week!" said Dirty Face, with
increasing contempt. "Why don't they
'ave a wealth week, an' let the torfs
shell out a bit o' dough to them as
wants it? 'Owever, they got one good
motter: 'Be temprit.' 'Ow's that?"

"Rotten!" replied the man with the
red nose. "S'pose bein' temprit makes
you un'appy? When yer un'appy yer
un'ealthy, ain't you? There's nothin'
like a contented mind."

"That's wot I sez," agreed Dirty
Face. "If washin' gives you a uneasy
feelin', wy wash? This 'ere 'ealth
week is all a cunnin' capitalistic
scheme to skin the poor. 'Be
temprit.' Why? 'Be clean.' Why?
So's to save yer money. 'Be clean.'
Why? So's to spend wot you've saved
on soap. Did ever you 'ear of a soap
maker who didn't 'ave 'undreds of
thousands—all made outer the poor?"

Just then a cloud of dust blew up
the street, enveloping the two friends
and a bevy of gaily dressed ladies
who were passing by. The pedestrians
sputtered and choked—

"'Ealth week said dirty face,
 'EALTH WEEK! Oh, my 'oly Aunt!
"come on 'ave a little tiddly" said
the man with the red nose; "'an
wash down the dust."

"Righto," agreed the man with the
dirty face, its the sorter washin'
that outts me. 'Ealth week! Weak 
'ealth more like it. Come on."