Yes; with an aitch. There's a balance abart 'im that I like.
There's no doubt the Christian religion went too far. Turn the other
cheek! What oh! An' this Anti-Christ, Neesha, what came in with the
war--he went too far in the other direction. Neither of 'em practical
men. You've got to strike a balance, and foller it.
MR MARCH. Balance! Not much balance about us. We just run about and
jump Jim Crow.
BLY. [With a perfunctory wipe] That's right; we 'aven't got a faith
these days. But what's the use of tellin' the Englishman to act like an
angel. He ain't either an angel or a blond beast. He's between the two,
an 'ermumphradite. Take my daughter----If I was a blond beast, I'd turn
'er out to starve; if I was an angel, I'd starve meself to learn her the
piano. I don't do either. Why? Becos my instincts tells me not.
MR MARCH. Yes, but my doubt is whether our instincts at this moment of
the world's history are leading us up or down.
BLY. What is up and what is down? Can you answer me that? Is it up or
down to get so soft that you can't take care of yourself?
MR MARCH. Down.
BLY. Well, is it up or down to get so 'ard that you can't take care of
others?
MR MARCH. Down.
BLY. Well, there you are!
MARCH. Then our instincts are taking us down?
BLY. Nao. They're strikin' a balance, unbeknownst, all the time.
MR MARCH. You're a philosopher, Mr Bly.
BLY. [Modestly] Well, I do a bit in that line, too.
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