Nutts. Wired, Mr Nosebag? No sich thing. That hare died happy, knowing it died according to Act of Parliament: goin’ to eat him with currant-jelly, and all the honours.
Enter Slowgoe.
What, Mr Slowgoe! Well, at first if I didn’t think it was a he-goat. Can’t afford it—can’t, indeed; if you will go with your beard for a fortnight, I can’t lose by it. No; that must be twopenn’orth; not a farthin’ less. Soap and razor can’t do it.
Slowgoe. Never again, Mr Nutts, am I shaved by an infidel. Never again should I have come into your shop, only, I—I think I left my ’bacco-stopper.
Nutts. Never thought you smoked; but I do. (Calling.) Mrs Nutts, you haven’t seen Mr Slowgoe’s ’bacco-stopper?—a little boot o’ virgin gold with a diamond heel-top. If the child’s swallowed it, put the poor man out of his misery, and say so.
Mrs Nutts. (From the back.) Mind your business, Nutts; and go along with your rubbish.
Nutts. (In a low voice.) That’s like the women, isn’t it, Mr Slowgoe? All our little pleasures in which they take no part is rubbish. What do they care for ’bacco-stoppers? Not a jot: nothin’ below a broken heart’s worth their notice. You won’t take a stool, Mr Slowgoe?
Slowgoe. Just while I wait. The thing will be found; for Mrs Nutts is a charming woman, and——
Nutts. Mr Slowgoe, excuse me; I never say anything o’ the sort myself, and can suffer no other man to take that freedom. (Calling.) Mrs Nutts—partner of my bosom—apple of my eye—don’t forget the currant-jelly. You see, gentlemen, when it’s a matter of dinner, a little kindness is allowable. Exalt man as you will, still he’s a thing of stomach.
Nosebag. Stomach! I only wish Mr Slowgoe had seen that hare. Poached, Mr Slowgoe, poached, as I’m a sinful billsticker. If Mr Peabody here had done his duty as a policeman, he’d ha’ taken that hare to Bow Street.