ERMYNTRUDE: Father, I will not hear such words.
SLADDER: I've given him every chance. I've given him more than every
chance, but he prefers the bottom rung of the ladder; there we will
leave him.
ERMYNTRUDE: O, father! How can you be so cruel?
SLADDER: It's not my fault, and it's not the bishop's fault. It's his
own silly pig-headedness.
[_He goes back to his chair._
ERMYNTRUDE (_going up to_ HIPPANTHIGH): O, Charlie, couldn't you do what
father wants?
HIPPANTHIGH: No, no, I cannot. He wants me to go back on things I've
said.
[_Enter_ MRS. SLADDER _carrying a wire cage, with two dead white mice in
it. Also_ SPLURGE.
MRS. SLADDER[3]: O, the mice have died, John. The mice have died. O,
Ermyntrude's poor mice! And father's great idea! Whatever shall we do?
SLADDER: Er? (_Almost a groan_) Eh? Died have they?
[SLADDER _ages in his chair. You would say he was beaten. Suddenly he
tautens up his muscles and stands up straight with shoulders back and
clenched hands._
So they would beat Sladder, would they? They would beat Sladder. No,
that has yet to be done. We'll go on, Splurge. The public shall eat
Cheezo. It's a bit strong perhaps. We'll tone it down with bad nuts that
they use for the other cheeses. We'll advertise it, and they'll eat it.
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