Eben. Fire and fury! I’ll break this cane over your head, insolent!
Clap. Do; and then I’ll throw you and the pieces down those stairs, catamount!
Eben. (Aside.) O, this won’t do. (Aloud.) I beg your pardon, Mr. Claptrap.
Clap. Clapboard, sir.
Eben. Mr. Clapboard, I was a little hasty. You must attribute it to the anxiety of a devoted parent. I have a son.
Clap. So I understand.
Eben. A week ago he left the parental mansion, for the purpose, as he said, of recruiting himself at a quiet place in the country. All very well, of course. I could bring nothing to say against that; but yesterday I received an anonymous note, mailed at this place, bidding me look out for my son, who, the note said, had formed a tender attachment. Do you hear?—a tender attachment!
Clap. Well, what of it?
Eben. What of it? Hear the man! Sir! Mr. Claptrap!