Mr. Beetle. Silly—so that we can have two, of course.
Mrs. Beetle. Two? Quite right—quite right—two.
Mr. Beetle. Just fancy—two—at least two, say three. Every one who’s made his pile has to make another.
Mrs. Beetle. So that he can have two?
Mr. Beetle. Yes, or three.
Mrs. Beetle. Husband.
Mr. Beetle. Well, what is it?
Mrs. Beetle. I’m scared—S’posin’ some one was to steal it from us.
Mr. Beetle. What?
Mrs. Beetle. Our capital—our little pile—our all in all.