“Disgusting!” cried Candituft.

“Good! devilish good!” laughed Colonel Bones.

“And so it became a saying in Siam. Whenever,” said Thrush, with a leer at the Man-Tamer—“whenever a man coaxed and flattered another for his own ends, folks would say—‘He’s laying on the treacle, and may come in for the caterpillars.’ And this, I assure you, was in Siam.”

“Charming! excellent! quite a delicious apologue!” said Candituft, with a smile that declared him invulnerable. “You are a happy fellow, Thrush. When you are most bitter, you are most wholesome. It’s impossible not to relish you. After a talk with you, I feel my morals braced, toned I may say, for a month. Capital fellow!” and Candituft laid his outspread hand affectionately on Thrush’s shoulder.

“Hallo! Basil, boy, how d’ye do?” said Thrush to young Pennibacker, who, looking anxiously about him, ran upon the party. “’Pon my word, you haven’t done growing yet. Why, how you’ve shot up this last month!”

“No doubt, my dear sir; climb like a honeysuckle. But the truth is, we talk of the degeneracy of the age. I’ve found out[Pg 69] the cause, sir; it’s straps. They hold down the free-born Briton, sir; they dwarf a giant race, sir. Every man, if he likes, has his discovery; straps is mine.”

[Pg 69]

“Admirable!” cried Candituft, with convulsive laughter; for Basil had already been shown to the Man-Tamer as the son-in-law of the gorgeous Jericho. “Most ingenious; and yet most simple discovery! Ha! ha!”

“That’s it, sir,” said Basil, taking quick measure of Candituft—“that’s it. We look abroad for causes, when the thing is under our foot. What has lowered the standard of the British army?—straps. Why, in these days, sir, have we no high drama, sir—no high art? Straps, sir; straps. Men are tied to their boots, and can’t reach it. Why have we no political greatness, sir? Why does an unprincipled minister every night of his parliamentary existence violate the spotless constitution?”

“Ugh! Hear! Hear! Humph?” cried Colonel Bones, and he rubbed his big, raw hands.

“Why have we no public spirit left, sir? Why do we not rise against tyranny, and taxation, and free trade, and the Pope? The disgrace and the answer, gentlemen, are in one crushing syllable—straps!”

“Hear! hear! hear! Loud cheers!” 

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