VALENTINE. I do.
CRAMPTON. Can you pay me?
VALENTINE. No.
CRAMPTON (satisfied with his advantage). I thought not. How soon d'y' think you'll be able to pay me if you have no better manners than to make game of your patients? (He sits down again.)
VALENTINE. My good sir: my patients haven't all formed their characters on kitchen soap.
CRAMPTON (suddenly gripping him by the arm as he turns away again to the cabinet). So much the worse for them. I tell you you don't understand my character. If I could spare all my teeth, I'd make you pull them all out one after another to shew you what a properly hardened man can go through with when he's made up his mind to do it. (He nods at him to enforce the effect of this declaration, and releases him.)
VALENTINE (his careless pleasantry quite unruffled). And you want to be more hardened, do you?
CRAMPTON. Yes.
VALENTINE (strolling away to the bell). Well, you're quite hard enough for me already—as a landlord. (Crampton receives this with a growl of grim humor. Valentine rings the bell, and remarks in a cheerful, casual way, whilst waiting for it to be answered.) Why did you never get married, Mr. Crampton? A wife and children would have taken some of the hardness out of you.
CRAMPTON (with unexpected ferocity). What the devil is that to you? (The parlor maid appears at the door.)