like a cow! Sure to have it—safe—it must come: and do you mark my words, let it come when it will, all of that kidney may look out for squalls. What, do you suppose that, because Johnny Bull is an ass now, he'll be an ass always? The idea is rotten. No; just look you here now, and do you mind this: no sooner are the people's eyes a little matters open—no sooner have they got out the dust that has blinded them ever since Peter the Great's time—than down comes a regular amalgamating battery, that'll stalk through the land, and sweep everything before it. There'll be no swindles—no petty-larceny plundering proud pick-pocketing pensioners—no placemen—no priestcraft—no poverty then: bribery and corruption will then be struck flat; and if ever they're suffered to rise again, it'll be the people's fault. We shall then see how such men as Teddy Rouse'll stand. They won't have 'em at no price-no more they don't ought. They'll be swept clean away—as old Boney once said, when he went out to welt the invaders—swept clean from the face of the earth, and sent after their French girls—their Rosalies—pretty dears! There, if I'd my will, I'd have a rope to reach from one steeple to another, and string 'em all up in a lump. I'd do it wholesale—I wouldn't mince the matter with them: I'd rid the earth of them at once, and then the mass of money which they swallow up would go into the pockets of the poor. As for Teddy Rouse—why, it's awful to see a man in his situation at this game. Here's a man running after French girls openly and in the face of day, and yet—look you here—we pay that man expressly to teach us morality. I mean to say it's monstrous. Isn't it, now, dreadful? When you come to look at it, isn't it disgusting?"
"It's all very well what you say," replied Pokey; "but you've been a preaching without any text!"
"Text!" exclaimed Obadiah. "Ted is my text—corruption's my text—immorality's my text—national swindling's my text—revolution's my text! Everything's my text, when I see men like Teddy Rouse going at this rate."
"At what rate?"
"At what rate? Why, running after Rosalies!"
"You don't know, in this case, that it is so."
"Not know! You're a Tory: I always thought you were a Tory—not know?"
"You only guess."
"I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll bet you what you like of it!"
"Bet me? You know I never bet."
"I'll bet you five shillings of it: now, there!"
"But how can you prove it?"
"Never you mind—I'll prove it!"
"But when?"
"Within eight-and-forty hours."
"Then blame my buttons," cried Pokey, "if I don't take you. Now then—there's my crown."
"No, I sha'n't put down the money: let it be till the bet's decided. Mind you, I'm to prove that Ted's now gone to London."
