GEORGE: (Enthralled, bleats.) I promise never to disobey.
KRAMER: (Laughs loudly.) Holy smoke! You little know what’s in store for you. I’m the tartar to settle your little lot and break you in! I’ll bet Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out of you, old son. Cheek me, I dare you. If you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be inflicted in gym costume.
(George creeps under the sofa and peers out through the fringe.)
NEWMAN: (Widening her slip to screen her.) She’s not here.
GEORGE: (Closing her eyes.) She’s not here.
JERRY: (Hiding her with her gown.) She didn’t mean it, Mr Kramer. She’ll be good, sir.
ELAINE: Don’t be too hard on her, Mr Kamer. Sure you won’t, ma’amsir.
KRAMER: (Coaxingly.) Come, ducky dear, I want a word with you, darling, just to administer correction. Just a little heart to heart talk, sweety. (George puts out her timid head.) There’s a good girly now. (Kramer grabs her hair violently and drags her forward.) I only want to correct you for your own good on a soft safe spot. How’s that tender behind? O, ever so gently, pet. Begin to get ready.
GEORGE: (Fainting.) Don’t tear mine. . .
KRAMER: (Savagely.) The nosering, the pliers, the bastinado, the hanging hook, the knout I’ll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old. You’re in for it this time. I’ll make you remember me for the balance of your natural life. (His forehead veins swollen, his face congested.) I shall sit on your ottomansaddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson’s fat ham rashers and a bottle of Guinness’s porter. (He belches.) And suck my thumping good Stock Exchange cigar while I read the Licensed Victualler’s Gazette. Very possibly I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables and enjoy a slice of you with crisp crackling from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. It will hurt you.
(He twists her arm. George squeals, turning turtle.)
GEORGE: Don’t be cruel, nurse! Don’t!
KRAMER: (Twisting.) Another!
GEORGE: (Screams.) O, it’s hell itself! Every nerve in my body aches like mad!
KRAMER: (Shouts.) Good, by the rumping jumping general! That’s the best bit of news I heard these six weeks. Here, don’t keep me waiting, damn you! (He slaps her face.)
GEORGE: (Whimpers.) You’re after hitting me. I’ll tell. . .
KRAMER: Hold him down, girls, till I squat on him.
NEWMAN: Yes. Walk on him! I will.
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