Tickle. Lives on wind! It can’t be nothing but a bagpipe or a chameleon.
Nutts. That’s it: a chameleon. Well, that has a tongue as long as his body; but for all that, he can only catch flies with it. And that’s the case, I take it, with the member for S’rewsbury. I know it’s said he talked for loaves and fishes. And acause Sir Robert wouldn’t give him so much as a penny roll, not so much as the smallest sprat that swims in the Treasury, why then——
Slowgoe. Sir Robert! Hear what he does to Sir Robert, accordin’ to Sir John Tyrrel, who was at Lynn. He says the member for S’rewsbury “tears off Sir Robert Peel’s flesh, then polishes his bones, and sends ’em to the British Museum.”
Nutts. Well, that’s a nice compliment for a gen’l’man—bone-polisher to Sir Robert Peel! But certainly Sir John Tyrrel is a good one at a compliment. Didn’t he once say that the Duke of Wellington was the greatest man since our blessed Saviour? He did, as I’m a sinner. And if Sir John is very red in the face, which he ought to be, it is because he hasn’t done blushing ever since.
Chapter III.
Nutts lathering a customer; others waiting. Enter Little Girl.
Nutts. Now, my little dear, what’s for you?
Girl. Please, Mr Nutts, my mother says you’ve sent the wrong front. This is a red un, and mother’s is a light brown.