Slowgoe. I’m glad on it. For it’s my ’pinion that grouse and pheasants, and in fact all sorts of game, was only sent into the world for superior people.
Nutts. Shouldn’t wonder; only it’s a pity they warn’t somehow ticketed. ’Twould have hindered much squabblin’. Agin; when Adam give their names to all the birds and beasts, he might have ’lotted ’em out into partic’lar folks that was to eat ’em—ven’son for lords, mutton for commons.
Tickle. Might ha’ gone further than that, and have marked the very joints—sirlines for them as is respectable, and stickings for the poor.
Slowgoe. I tell you what, Mr Nutts, if you talk of Adam in that way, you don’t shave me. I’ll not trust my throat to an infidel.
Mrs Nutts. And that’s the way, Mr Nutts, you’ll drive everybody from the shop. At this time of day, what’s Adam to you? Look after your own family—Adam did, I’ve no doubt.
Slowgoe. Talkin’ o’ the Pertectionists—I see they’ve had another dinner.
Nutts. Yes. The country’s done for; but it’s a comfort to think that, though their hearts are broke, they can dine still. If an earthquake were to gulp England to-morrow, they’d manage to meet and dine somehow among the rubbish, just to celebrate the event.
Slowgoe. Dinner to the Marquis of Granby.
Nosebag. Ha! seen him at a good many public-houses in my time.
Slowgoe. Dinner at Walsham. Chairman something like a chairman; drank the Queen; and this is what I call real speaking (reads): “They must have observed what benignant smiles were upon her countenance and how she appreciated their loyalty. Her Consort, too, was in the fields of sport, and he rode with courage and brilliancy with the hounds till night closed the chase.”