Trotter. [With bitterness.] You?
Gnawer. [Good-naturedly.] Yes, I wish I could marry her—to a youth she loves. It would give me the greatest pleasure to make two such beings happy. Who can prevent me?
Trotter. Reflect, master; you are but a miserable rat, and yet you speak of rendering human beings happy. We are of a despised race. There is nothing so mean in the eyes of men as rats. “Poor as a rat” is a common phrase with them.
Gnawer. Your temper is soured, my boy. Let us walk to aid digestion. The fresh air may clear your mind of these notions. Did you ever come across the songs of Béranger? He says that the poor, or rats, if you prefer it, have for their portion probity, wisdom, and happiness. A celebrated Scotch poet has even spoken of mice and men in the same line—
“The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men
Gang aft a-gley.”
That line recalls some incidents that have come under my personal notice, where the wisdom of the rat proved superior to the schemes of men.
Trotter. Yes; it is all very well talking, nevertheless, the fact remains. We are a doomed race. Romantic ideas, however well expressed, will never feed the poor, or rats, when dying from hunger.
Gnawer. Yes; who is in the habit of dying from hunger? Are you? Did you die yesterday? Are you dying to-day?
Trotter. [Aside in a mysterious tone.] Who knows? [Aloud.] If I do not die, others do. Have you forgotten Ratapon and his numerous family? They suffered for several days from hunger: taking heart, they asked their neighbours for help; but the first they came to, a big fat porker, whose sty was full of corn and vegetables——