Mr. Wackerbath.
How dare you address me in that way, sir! How——[He suddenly drops forward on his hands.] I will not go down on all fours! Do you hear, sir? I will not!
Pringle.
[Horrified.] But—Great Heavens, sir, you are on all fours!
Horace.
[Seizing Fakrash's arm.] Now, Fakrash—just you stop this!
Fakrash.
[Shaking Horace off.] Let me be! [To Mr. Wackerbath.] Begone, O contemptible of aspect! To thy kennel!
Mr. Wackerbath.
[Almost whining, as he crawls distractedly about on all fours.] I can't! I won't! I can't cross Westminster Bridge like this! What will the officials think at Waterloo, where I've been known and respected for years? How am I to face my wife and family in—in my present position? I insist on getting up!