Nutts. Why, it isn’t often we can turn kings to profit, and one shouldn’t miss a chance. Besides, when the war once began, I should pawn the enemy’s pictur on principle.
Slowgoe. Pooh! There’ll be no war. Things look a little black at present, but Louis Philippe’s a great man: he’ll smile it all clear again.
Tickle. They do say he can’t get a bit o’ sleep o’ nights for thinking of the noise in Shee’ness Dockyard: when they’re doing nothing but calking a whole squadron.
Slowgoe. What for?
Tickle. Why, in case anything happens, I suppose, to take the Queen of England’s kindest regards to the French Fleet. And they do say, that when the war breaks out, Admiral Joinville has taken a private oath to captur the Victoria and Albert, with the Queen and the Prince, and little Wales, and all the royal babbies, and Sir Jeames Clark and Doctor Locock, and the whole of the crew.
Nutts. Well, I don’t know, for the babbies’ sake, if I should be sorry for it.
Slowgoe. Why, you traitorous—rebellious!—Mr Peabody, as a policeman, can you bear this?
Peabody. Yes: anything; I’m not on duty.
Nutts. Hear me out. Sometimes when I wake o’ nights my heart bleeds for them babbies. Haven’t you all read what Sir Frederick Trench says, that in Buckin’ham Palace the royal children have such small bedrooms that they’re like the little princes smothered in the Tower? Now, if they was to be taken just for two or three years to France, while the new palace was building, they wouldn’t, as it’s now very likely, be stopt in their growth. Only think of a Prince of Wales with not room enough to stretch himself! Now, the King of the French, I’ve no doubt on it, would give ’em all nice roomy quarters at Yow.
Peabody. Beg your pardon, Mr Nutts; but—Eu! It’s difficult, I know; but—Eu!