“Well, things would be worse without us. I’d jolly rather be in here, in this kind of muck, than outside,” remarked the fat man who understood dogs.
“Certainly, it’s very pleasant, especially if you’ve your beer; but not so pleasant over there at the Docks, where fifty thousand people starve. It’s a very unpleasant night,” the cabinet-maker went on.
“How can it be worse?” Eustache Poupin asked while he looked at the German as to make him responsible for the fat man’s reflexion. “It’s so bad that the imagination recoils, refuses—!”
“Oh, we don’t care for the imagination!” the fat man declared. “We want a compact body in marching order.”
“What do you call a compact body?” the little grey-faced shoemaker demanded. “I daresay you don’t mean your kind of body.”
“Well, I know what I mean,” said the fat man severely.
“That’s a grand thing. Perhaps one of these days you’ll tell us.”
“You’ll see it for yourself perhaps, before that day comes,” the gentleman with the silver ring rejoined. “Perhaps when you do you’ll remember.”
“Well, you know, Schinkel says we don’t,” said the shoemaker, nodding at the cloud-compelling German.
“I don’t care a bloody rap what no man says!” the dog-fancier exclaimed, gazing straight before him.