“What! have they really gardens, Chatterino?”
“Certainly—after a fashion—and houses, and public conveyances—and even universities.”
“You do not mean to say, certainly, that they have a system!”
“Why, as to system, I believe they are a little at sixes and sevens. I really can’t take it upon myself to say that they have a system.”
“Oh, yes, my lord—of a certainty we have one—the social stake system.”
“Ask the creature,” whispered audibly the filthy coxcomb Hightail, “if he himself, now, has any income.”
“How is it, Sir John—have you an income?”
“Yes, my lord, of one hundred and twelve thousand sovereigns a year.”
“Of what?—of what?” demanded two or three voices, with well-bred, subdued eagerness.
“Of sovereigns—why that means kings!”