"I don't think any man could be more jealous than I am myself," said Madame Goesler.
"Then you're fit to be a member of a Government, that's all. I don't suppose that there is a man in England has worked harder for his party than Mr. Bonteen."
"I don't think there is," said Phineas.
"Or made himself more useful in Parliament. As for work, only that his constitution is so strong, he would have killed himself."
"He should take Thorley's mixture,—twice a day," said Madame Goesler.
"Take!—he never has time to take anything. He breakfasts in his dressing-room, carries his lunch in his pocket, and dines with the division bell ringing him up between his fish and his mutton chop. Now he has got their decimal coinage in hand, and has not a moment to himself, even on Sundays!"
"He'll be sure to go to Heaven for it,—that's one comfort."
"And because they are absolutely obliged to make him Chancellor of the Exchequer,—just as if he had not earned it,—everybody is so jealous that they are ready to tear him to pieces!"
"Who is everybody?" asked Phineas.
"Oh! I know. It wasn't only Sir Orlando Drought. Who told Sir Orlando? Never mind, Mr. Finn."