Slowgoe. Just one minute.
Nutts. Minutes, Mr Slowgoe, are the small-change of life. Can’t wait for nobody. I’ll take you then, Mr Limpy. (Limpy takes the chair.) It makes my flesh crawl to see some folks with a newspaper. They go through it for all the world like a caterpillar through a cabbage leaf.
Slowgoe. Well, for my part, I like to chew my news. I think a newspaper’s like a dinner; doesn’t do you half the good if it’s bolted. Haven’t come to it yet; but tell me—Is it true that the Duke of Wellington’s going to repeal flogging?
Tickle. Why, yes; they do say so; but the Duke does nothin’ in a hurry. Always likes to take his time. You know at Waterloo he would wait for the Prussians; and only because if he’d licked the French afore, he didn’t know how else to spend the evening.
Slowgoe. I never heard that; but it’s very like the Duke. And there’s to be no flogging.
Tickle. No; it’s to be repealed by degrees, like the corn-laws. In nine years’ time there won’t be a single cat in the British army.
Nosebag. Why should they wait nine years?
Nutts. Nothin’ but reg’lar. You see the cat-o’-nine-tails is one of the institutions of the country, and therefore must be handled very delicate.
When cat’s away
Sojers play.