JOHN. We're guests.
WILL. No one's listening.
JOHN. 'Tisn't that. If it was anywhere but here, if there was any way to avoid all the nasty scandal, I'd come a shootin' for you, and you know it.
WILL. Gun-fighter, eh?
JOHN. Perhaps. Let me tell you this. I don't know how you make your money, but I know what you do with it. You buy yourself a small circle of sycophants; you pay them well for feeding your vanity; and then you pose,—pose with a certain frank admission of vice and degradation. And those who aren't quite as brazen as you call it manhood. Manhood? [Crossing slowly to armchair, sits.] Why, you don't know what the word means. It's the attitude of a pup and a cur.
WILL. [Angrily.] Wait a minute [Crosses to JOHN.], young man, or
I'll—
JOHN rises quickly. Both men stand confronting each other for a moment with fists clenched. They are on the very verge of a personal encounter. Both seem to realize that they have gone too far.
JOHN. You'll what?
WILL. Lose my temper and make a damn fool of myself. That's something I've not done for—let me see—why, it must be nearly twenty years—oh, yes, fully that.
[He smiles; JOHN relaxes and takes one step back.