WENTWORTH. This is too intellectual for me; my brain would go in no
time.
GERALD. You aren't doing it all day, of course; there are other
things. Physical training. Swedish exercises. Tell yourself that
you'll be able to push up fifty times from the ground before you
come out. Learn to walk on your hands. Practise cart-wheels, if you
like. Gad! you could come out a Hercules.
WENTWORTH. I can't help feeling that the strain of improving myself
so enormously would tell on me.
GERALD. Oh, you'd have your games and so on to keep you bright and
jolly.
WENTWORTH (sarcastically). Golf and cricket, I suppose?
GERALD. Golf, of course; I'm doubtful about cricket. You must have
another one for cricket, and I'm afraid the warder wouldn't play.
But golf, and squash rackets, and bowls, and billiards--and croquet--
WENTWORTH (in despair). Oh, _go_ on!
GERALD. Really, you're hopeless. What the Swiss Family Wentworth
would have done if they'd ever been shipwrecked, I can't think.
Don't you _ever_ invent _any_thing for yourself? (Excitedly) Man
alive! you've got a hymn-book and a piece of soap, what more do you
want? You can play anything with that. (Thoughtfully) Oh, I forgot
the Olympic games. Standing long jump. And they talk about the
boredom of it!
WENTWORTH (thoughtfully). You've got your ideas, Gerald.
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