The Prince.
Still, as an antiquarian, you ought not to grumble! [Throwing down his burden, also. Both sit.] Did you ever see such a collection?
Mentor.
[Picking up specimens.] Leg of the time of your great grandfather! Right arm dating, let me see, fifty years back! Torso ninety-nine years old!
The Prince.
And we can’t construct one symmetrical skeleton out of them! None of the rights match the lefts! Whatever shall we do with them? As trophies they are interesting, yet one wouldn’t want them on the walls of the dining-room!
Mentor.
As soon as you ascend the throne you must build a new wing to the Royal Museum for them. Ouch! Another thorn in my foot!
The Prince.