it; but there's men here would sell their own mothers for two coppers if they got the chance.
AUGUSTUS. Beamish, it's an ill bird that fouls its own nest.
THE CLERK. It wasn't me that let Little Pifflington get foul. I don't belong to the governing classes. I only tell you why you can't have no rolls.
AUGUSTUS.[intensely irritated]. Can you tell me where I can find an intelligent being to take my orders?
THE CLERK. One of the street sweepers used to teach in the school until it was shut up for the sake of economy. Will he do?
AUGUSTUS. What! You mean to tell me that when the lives of the gallant fellows in our trenches, and the fate of the British Empire, depend on our keeping up the supply of shells, you are wasting money on sweeping the streets?
THE CLERK. We have to. We dropped it for a while; but the infant death rate went up something frightful.
AUGUSTUS. What matters the death rate of Little Pifflington in a moment like this? Think of our gallant soldiers, not of your squalling infants.
THE CLERK. If you want soldiers you must have children. You can't buy em in boxes, like toy soldiers.
AUGUSTUS. Beamish, the long and the short of it is, you are no patriot. Go downstairs to your office; and have that gas stove taken away and replaced by an ordinary grate. The Board of Trade has urged on me the necessity for economizing gas.
THE CLERK. Our orders from the Minister of Munitions is to use gas instead of coal, because it saves material. Which is it to be?
AUGUSTUS.[bawling furiously at him]. Both! Don't criticize your orders: obey them. Yours not to reason
