HIPPANTHIGH: No, Mr. Sladder, you're not killing them. The mortality among children's a bit on the high side, but I wouldn't say that was entirely due to your bread. There's a good many minor ailments among the grown-up people, it seems to attack their digestion mostly, one can't trace each case to its source; but their health and their teeth aren't what they were when they had the pure wheaten bread. SLADDER: But there _is_ wheat in my bread, prepared by a special process. HIPPANTHIGH: Ah! It's that special process that does it, I expect. SLADDER: Well, they needn't buy it if it isn't good. HIPPANTHIGH: Ah, they can't help themselves, poor fools; they've been taught to do it from their childhood up. Virilo, Bredo and Weeto, that are all so much better than bread, it's a choice between these three. Bread is never advertised, or God's good wheat. SLADDER: Mr. Hippanthigh, if I'm too much of a fool to sell my goods I suffer for it; if they're such fools as to buy my Virilo, they suffer for it--that is to say, you say they do--that is a natural law that may be new to you. But why should I suffer more than them? Besides, if I take my Virilo off the market just to oblige you, Mr. Hippanthigh, a little matter of £30,000 a year---- HIPPANTHIGH: I--er---- SLADDER: O, don't mention it. Any little trifle to oblige! But if I did, up would go the sales of Bredo and Weeto (which have nothing to do with my firm), and your friends wouldn't be any better for that let me tell you, for I happen to know how _they're_ made. HIPPANTHIGH: I am not speaking of the wickedness of others. I come to appeal to you, Mr. Sladder, that for nothing that _you_ do, our English race shall lose anything of its ancient strength, in its young men in their prime, or that they should grow infirm a day sooner than God intended, when He planned his course for man. ERMYNTRUDE (_off_): Father! Father! [SLADDER _draws himself up, and stands erect to meet the decisive news that he has expected._ [_Enter_ ERMYNTRUDE. ERMYNTRUDE: Father! The mice have eaten the cheese. SLADDER: Ah! The public will---- O! (_He has suddenly seen_ HIPPANTHIGH). HIPPANTHIGH (_solemnly_): What new wickedness is this, Mr. Sladder? (_All stand silent._) Good-bye, Mr. Sladder. [_He goes to the door, passing_ ERMYNTRUDE. _He looks at her and sighs as he goes. He passes_ MRS. SLADDER _near the door, and bows in silence._ [_Exit._ ERMYNTRUDE: What have you been saying to Mr. Hippanthigh, father? SLADDER: Saying! He's been doing all the saying. He doesn't let you do much saying, does Hippanthigh. ERMYNTRUDE: But, father. What did he come to see you about? SLADDER: He came to call your poor old father all kinds of bad names, he did. It seems your old father is a wicked fellow, Ermyntrude. ERMYNTRUDE: O, father, I'm sure he never meant it.