Mrs. Beetle. Ha, ha, ha!
Mr. Beetle. I’m off my head with joy—I’m going balmy.
Mrs. Beetle. Why?
Mr. Beetle. With worry. Now we’ve got our little pile that we’ve so looked forward to, we’ve got to work and work and work to make another one.
Mrs. Beetle. Why another one?
Mr. Beetle. Silly—so that we can have two, of course.
Mrs. Beetle. Two? Quite right—quite right—two.
Mr. Beetle. Just fancy—two—at least two, say three. Every one who ’s made his pile has to make another.
Mrs. Beetle. So that he can have two?
Mr. Beetle. Yes, or three.
Mrs. Beetle. Husband.
Mr. Beetle. Well, what is it?
Mrs. Beetle. I’m scared—S’posin’ some one was to steal it from us.
Mr. Beetle. What?
Mrs. Beetle. Our capital—our little pile—our all in all.
Mr. Beetle. Our pi-ile—My gawd—don’t frighten me.
Mrs. Beetle. We oughtn’t to roll it about with us till we’ve made another one, dearie, did we?
Mr. Beetle. I’ll tell you what—we’ll invest it—In—vest it—store it up—bury it. That ’s what we’ll do—nice and deep—nice and deep.
Mrs. Beetle. I hope nobody finds it.
Mr. Beetle. Eh, what ’s that? Finds it—No, of course they won’t. Our little bit of capital.
