Concho (aside). It is a trick, a Yankee trick! (Aloud.) I am ready. Now—at once!
Starbottle (gravely). Permit me, sir, to thank you. Your conduct, sir, reminds me of singular incident—
Concho (angrily interrupting). Come, come! It is no child's play. We have much of this talk, eh! It is action, eh, you comprehend,—action.
(STARBOTTLE places pistols under the cloth, and sets clock. CONCHO draws pistol from cloth; STARBOTTLE takes remaining pistol. Both men assume position, presenting their weapons; STARBOTTLE pompously but seriously, CONCHO angrily and nervously.)
Starbottle (after a pause). One moment, a single moment—
Concho. Ah, a trick! Coward! you cannot destroy my aim.
Starbottle. I overlook the—er—epithet. I wished only to ask, if you should be—er—unfortunate, if there was anything I could say to your—er—friends.
Concho. You cannot make the fool of me, coward. No!
Starbottle. My object was only precautionary. Owing to the position in which you—er—persist in holding your weapon, in a line with my right eye, I perceive that a ray of light enters the nipple, and—er—illuminates the barrel. I judge from this that you have been unfortunate enough to draw the—er—er—unloaded pistol.
Concho (tremulously lowering weapon). Eh! Ah! This is murder! (Drops pistol.) Murder!—eh—help (retreating), help!