HIPPANTHIGH: I want you to spare them, Mr. Sladder.

SLADDER: Spare them? Spare them? Why, what's the matter with them? I'm not killing them.

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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d 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, pa.s.sing_ ERMYNTRUDE. _He looks at her and sighs as he goes. He pa.s.ses_ 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.

[HIPPANTHIGH _goes by the window with a mournful face._ ERMYNTRUDE _runs to the window and watches him till he is out of sight. She quietly waves her hand to_ HIPPANTHIGH, _unseen by her father._

SLADDER: O, he meant it all right. He meant it. I'm sorry for that bishop of his that he quarrels with, if he lets him have it the way he went for your poor old father. O, dear me; dear me.

ERMYNTRUDE: I don't think he quarrels with him, father. I think he only insists that there can be no such thing as eternal punishment. I think that's rather nice of him.

SLADDER: I don't care a d.a.m.n about eternal punishment one way or the other. But a man who quarrels with the head of his firm's a fool. If his bishop's keen on h.e.l.l, he should push h.e.l.l for all it's worth.

ERMYNTRUDE: Y-e-s, I suppose he should. But, father, aren't you glad that my mice have eaten the new cheese? I thought you'd be glad, father.

SLADDER: So I am, child. So I am. Only I don't feel quite so glad as I thought I was going to, now. I don't know why. He seems to have stroked me the wrong way somehow.

ERMYNTRUDE: You said you'd give me whatever I liked.

SLADDER: And so I will, child. So I will. A motor if you like, with chauffeur and footman complete. We can buy anything now, and I wouldn't grudge----

ERMYNTRUDE: I don't want a motor, father.

SLADDER: What would you like to have?

ERMYNTRUDE: O, nothing, father, nothing. Only about that duke, father----

SLADDER: What duke, Ermyntrude?

ERMYNTRUDE: Mother said you wanted me to marry a duke some day, father.

SLADDER: Well?

ERMYNTRUDE: Well I--er--I don't think I quite want to, father.

SLADDER: Ah! Quite so. Quite so. Quite so. And who _did_ you think of marrying?

ERMYNTRUDE: O, father.

SLADDER: Well? (ERMYNTRUDE _is silent._) When I was his age, I had to work hard for my living.

ERMYNTRUDE: O, father. How do you know what age he is?

SLADDER: O, I guessed he was 82, going to be 83 next birthday. But I daresay I know nothing of the world. I daresay I may have been wrong.

ERMYNTRUDE: O, father, he's young.

SLADDER: Dear me, you don't say so. Dear me, you do surprise me. Well, well, well, well. We do live and learn. Don't we? And what might his name be now?

ERMYNTRUDE: It's Mr. Hippanthigh, father.

SLADDER: O-o-o! It's Mr. Hippanthigh, is it? O-ho, O-ho! (_He touches a movable bell, shouting_ "SPLURGE!" _To his daughter or rather to himself._) We'll see Mr. Hippanthigh.

ERMYNTRUDE: What are you going to do, father?