Mrs Nutts. And tell me, what did the Prince’s pigs say? Surely they didn’t bewail their fat to Æsop.
Peabody. All in the same manner as the steer; and one of the pigs in special said this, “They’ve over-fattened me, made my life a burden, and now they’ll kill me. Still I have this revenge; for be assured, whoever eats a morsel of me—if it’s hours afterwards—I’ll do nothing but rise upon him.”
Chapter XVI.
Nutts. (Stropping razor.) Happy new year to ye, my friends.
Tickle. Hallo, Nutts! Why, what’s the matter with the shop? As fine and as shiny, and smelling as sweet as Covent Garden! Well, I’m sure! If you haven’t brought a bit of Bond Street to Seven Dials! What’s it all about?
Nutts. Nothing. Merely treating the new year like a gentleman. That’s all. I’ve turned over a new leaf.
Mrs Nutts. That’s the old story, Mr Tickle. For these ten years and more, Nutts has always turned over a new leaf. Mighty fine. But afore the year’s a week old, see if he doesn’t turn the new leaf back again. All his new leaves are very soon old dog’s-ears. Just like the men.
Nosebag. Shouldn’t ha’ known the shop agin. New rush-bottoms to the chairs, all the cracked windows mended, and what—remarkable—nice sand upon the floor!