"Of course it is, and what his Celestial Majesty will be doing next, I can't guess—I must ask my friend in the Potteries his opinion."
"I shouldn't at all wonder," returned Miss Dibsley, "if he were to hang himself up on one of his own tea-trees by his own pigtail, as a scarecrow to frighten away the barbarians."
"But if this destruction of tea is to go on, what are we to do? What is to become of the tee-totallers, Miss Dibsley?'
"Can't say, my dear Mrs. Hipson, unless they turn coffee-totallers."
"It's a melancholy affair, love."
"It is indeed, dear. That last crisp little biscuit there is positively tempting,—and now I think of it, I'll just venture on half a cup more tea; that sprinkling of gunpowder holds out deliciously. That'll do—thank you—charming!—These Chinese, I believe, have nothing of a navy?"
"I'm credibly informed," responded Mrs. Hipson, "that their ships are all made of earthenware—in the shape of milk-pots."
"Yes, and their cavalry are all mounted on tea-kettles, and go by steam."