BROOME. And so would you if you’d druv a cab twenty-nine years.
MARY. But the taxis go faster, father, and you’ve only got to pay the same.
BROOME. Never mind that. Why should they injure a established trade? Why should they spoil other trades? What’s a country without its trades?
MRS. BROOME. That’s the way he talks.
BROOME. Mark my words. They’ll find out their mistake. Look what’s coming to the breed of horses. Look at nosebags.
LEONARD. Nosebags?
BROOME. Ay. I’ve been told of a firm as used to turn out a matter of two hundred nosebags a week and now they don’t do fifty.
MRS. BROOME. He may get taken on at a mews.
BROOME. Mews’s days are numbered.