_Nutts._ (_Opening door for child carrying hare in a dish._) Now, Adelgitha, you’ll tell Dobbs the baker to be very partic’lar with that hare. ’Tisn’t pleasant to send meat to the oven, and have back a cinder. (_Exit child._) _Nosebag._ Specially arter the trouble of gettin’ a hare. Hares aren’t wired every day. _Nutts._ Wired, Mr Nosebag? No sich thing. That hare died happy, knowing it died according to Act of Parliament: goin’ to eat him with currant-jelly, and all the honours. _Enter =Slowgoe=._ What, Mr Slowgoe! Well, at first if I didn’t think it was a he-goat. Can’t afford it--can’t, indeed; if you will go with your beard for a fortnight, I can’t lose by it. No; that must be twopenn’orth; not a farthin’ less. Soap and razor can’t do it. _Slowgoe._ Never again, Mr Nutts, am I shaved by an infidel. Never again should I have come into your shop, only, I--I think I left my ’bacco-stopper. _Nutts._ Never thought you smoked; but I do. (_Calling._) Mrs Nutts, you haven’t seen Mr Slowgoe’s ’bacco-stopper?--a little boot o’ virgin gold with a diamond heel-top. If the child’s swallowed it, put the poor man out of his misery, and say so. _Mrs Nutts._ (_From the back._) Mind your business, Nutts; and go along with your rubbish. _Nutts._ (_In a low voice._) That’s like the women, isn’t it, Mr Slowgoe? All our little pleasures in which they take no part is rubbish. What do they care for ’bacco-stoppers? Not a jot: nothin’ below a broken heart’s worth their notice. You won’t take a stool, Mr Slowgoe? _Slowgoe._ Just while I wait. The thing will be found; for Mrs Nutts is a charming woman, and---- _Nutts._ Mr Slowgoe, excuse me; I never say anything o’ the sort myself, and can suffer no other man to take that freedom. (_Calling._) Mrs Nutts--partner of my bosom--apple of my eye--don’t forget the currant-jelly. You see, gentlemen, when it’s a matter of dinner, a little kindness is allowable. Exalt man as you will, still he’s a thing of stomach. _Nosebag._ Stomach! I only wish Mr Slowgoe had seen that hare. Poached, Mr Slowgoe, poached, as I’m a sinful billsticker. If Mr Peabody here had done his duty as a policeman, he’d ha’ taken that hare to Bow Street. _Slowgoe._ Ha! it’s no business of mine, of course--I’ll take the paper after you, Mr Nosebag, just while I stay--no business; but I know’d what it would come to when they disgraced pheasants down to poultry, and sold hares with low rabbits. _Tickle._ Nothin’s surprising now; I shouldn’t wonder to see the British Lion sold for bull-beef, and the Unicorn himself turned into ewe-mutton. Wonder what Mr Grantley Berkeley would say, if he heard that a penny barber dined off hare and currant-jelly! _Slowgoe._ Why, he’d write another letter to the _Morning Post_, of course. Great man Mr Berkeley! We’ve got a Keeper of the Woods and Forests, why shouldn’t we have a Government officer, a Keeper of the Hares and Pheasants? _Peabody._ With a seat in the Cabinet?