“I’m not likely to forget it，” came the angry voice， “when my Dwarfs bore the brunt of the attack and one in five of them fell.” （“That‘s Nikabrik，” whispered Trumpkin.）“For shame， Dwarf，” came a thick voice （“Trufflehunter’s，” said Trumpkin）. “We all did as much as the Dwarfs and none more than the King.”
“Tell that tale your own way for all I care，” answered Nikabrik. “But whether it was that the Horn was blown too late， or whether there was no magic in it， no help has come. You， you great clerk， you master magician， you know.all； are you still asking us to hang our hopes on Aslan and King Peter and all the rest of it？”
“I must confess.I cannot deny it.that I am deeply disappointed in the result of the operation，” came the answer. （“That‘ll be Doctor Cornelius，” said Trumpkin.）“To speak plainly，” said Nikabrik， “your wallet’s empty， your eggs addled， your fish uncaught， your promises broken. Stand aside then and let others work. And that is why.”
“The help will come，” said Trufflehunter. “I stand by Aslan. Have patience， like us beasts. The help will come. It may be even now at the door.”