Slowgoe. I’ve often told you, Mr Nutts, nothing is as it was. The world’s gettin’ old; and the iron, which we may look upon as the bones of the world, is going first. But what was to be expected from so many railroads? The earth’s exhausted, sir, by the persumption of man. I’ve been readin’ all about it, and I should say, as a man of business, the world isn’t worth fifty years’ purchase.
Nutts. Like my wife—looks very well for age, for all that.
Mrs Nutts. (From parlour.) Better let your wife alone, Mr Nutts, and provide for your family.
Nutts. But if, Mr Slowgoe, we aren’t to get any more iron, what are we to do for swords and armour in the next Spanish war? You know as the happy couple’s married—the Prince and the Infant lady, I mean—who can say how soon the fighting may begin?
Slowgoe. (Very solemnly.) Nobody!
Nutts. Artful work, isn’t it, when a little petticoat like that stirs up a war, sets armies in motion and ships a-sailing, and fortifies batteries, and cuts down, and blows up, and brings, as I may say, Beelzebub himself upon the world, like an old showman, to play the pipes and beat the drum whilst the fun’s a-doing? I wonder, in the course o’ time, how many thousand will be cut and blown to bits, and all along of the Infanta’s marriage. Well, they may talk as they like, but the real gun-cotton’s in petticoats.
Slowgoe. (With paper.) I perceive that the Queen of Spain has ennobled the French Ambassador’s baby. Not weaned yet, and made a grandee of Spain!
Tickle. And not the worst of the lot for that, I daresay.
Mrs Nutts. Make a darling baby a grandee, Mr Slowgoe. Dear child! what good will that do it? better have given it a silver mug.
Tickle. Only just hear, Mrs Nutts, and——