Log. Do you think so; but, I say, none of your chaffing.
Tom. Now, really—
Jerry. Yes, yes, he’s up.
Log. Hum, I don’t think it was so much amiss myself.
Jerry. Now, Doctor, take care of your bread-basket—eyes right, look to your napper.
Tom. Ay, ay, be leary, Bob, take care of your ribs—mind your pipkin—be down on your pimple. (They play a second bout; Jerry breaks Logic’s head).
Tom. I say, Bob, did you hear anything knock?
Log. Yes; and nobody at home.
Jerry. Doctor! I touch’d your knowledge box there, I think.
Log. Touch’d it, zounds! you’ve broken it, Jerry, but it must have been cracked before, or I should never have entered the lists with you. Brown-paper and vinegar for one.