This is too insolvent a state of things for the Father to entertain. It is too insolvent a state of things for anyone with any self-respect to entertain, and is universally scouted. But, it is so amazing how any people can have come to a total smash, that everybody feels bound to account for it specially. One of the Fathers says, “Gaming table.” Another of the Fathers says, “Speculated without knowing that speculation is a science.” Boots says “Horses.” Lady Tippins says to her fan, “Two establishments.” Mr. Podsnap, saying nothing, is referred to for his opinion; which he delivers as follows; much flushed and extremely angry:
“Don’t ask me. I desire to take no part in the discussion of these people’s affairs. I abhor the subject. It is an odious subject, an offensive subject, a subject that makes me sick, and I—” And with his favourite right-arm flourish which sweeps away everything and settles it forever, Mr. Podsnap sweeps these inconveniently unexplainable wretches who have lived beyond their means and gone to total smash, off the face of the universe.
Eugene, leaning back in his chair, is observing Mr. Podsnap with an irreverent face, and may be about to offer a new suggestion, when the Analytical is beheld in collision with the Coachman; the Coachman manifesting a purpose of coming at the company with a silver salver, as though intent upon making a collection for his wife and family; the Analytical cutting him off at the sideboard. The superior stateliness, if not the superior generalship, of the Analytical prevails over a man who is as nothing off the box; and the Coachman, yielding up his salver, retires defeated.
Then, the Analytical, perusing a scrap of paper lying on the salver, with the air of a literary censor, adjusts it, takes his time about going to the table with it, and presents it to Mr. Eugene Wrayburn. Whereupon the pleasant Tippins says aloud, “The Lord Chancellor has resigned!”