Chapter XV.
Nutts. In his circle.
Slowgoe. (With newspaper.) Pretty quiet, I see, about this Cracow business.
Nutts. Why, yes; when kings choose to break into towns, it’s what we may ’nominate burglary made easy. Heads may do anything, if they happen to be anointed, as you call it; for then they’ve been made so slippery, Justice can’t catch hold of ’em.
Slowgoe. Mr Nutts, you’re incurable. Justice is very well for people like us; but when it comes to emperors and kings—why, then, you see the scales of Justice——
Nutts. I know; not big enough for royal transactions. Justice may keep a chandler’s shop in the Old Bailey, to serve out penn’orths to poor people——
Nosebag. And sometimes cruel hard penn’orths, too.
Nutts. But she hasn’t weights heavy enough for wholesale work. She can’t weigh cities and towns, and thousands of men, women, and children, for royal customers. There’s no place sufficiently large in this world for her to set up her scales in.
Peabody. Why, no; perhaps not in this world. But heaven’s big enough, Mr Nutts; and there’s a destiny, they tell us, that weighs mountains.
Slowgoe. Now none of your irreligion, Mr Peabody. If the King of Prussia and the Emperor of Austria and of Russia——