“Ungrammatical twaddler, was it, sir?” said Pott.
“Yes, sir, it was,” replied Slurk; “and blue bore, sir, if you like that better; ha! ha!”
Mr. Pott retorted not a word to this jocose insult, but deliberately folded up his copy of the Independent, flattened it carefully down, crushed it beneath his boot, spat upon it with great ceremony, and flung it into the fire.
“There, sir,” said Pott, retreating from the stove, “and that’s the way I would serve the viper who produces it, if I were not, fortunately for him, restrained by the laws of my country.”
“Serve him so, sir!” cried Slurk, starting up. “Those laws shall never be appealed to by him, sir, in such a case. Serve him so, sir!”
“Hear! hear!” said Bob Sawyer.
“Nothing can be fairer,” observed Mr. Ben Allen.
“Serve him so, sir!” reiterated Slurk, in a loud voice.
Mr. Pott darted a look of contempt, which might have withered an anchor.
“Serve him so, sir!” reiterated Slurk, in a louder voice than before.