Twitters. The writers of anonymous letters are dealt with according to the law.
Hunker. So are venders of poisoned food.
Twitters. I don’t believe a word of your story.
Hunker (calmly and deliberately producing papers, which he turns over). I have proofs that arsenic was in the sugar, that the sugar was sold by the copartnership of Tollgate & Twitters, that one if not both of said firm knew of this rather unpleasant adulteration. (Twitters grabs at papers.) Don’t lose your self-control, Twitters, I never do. There are copies.
Twitters. Granting your proofs, then,—supposing the whole thing true, you, the poisoner, will suffer more than I, the victim.
Hunker (calmly). I shall turn State’s evidence.
Twitters (sinking back in chair). Good heavens!
Hunker. See here, Twitters. I’m a fair minded man. In practically maintaining sound economic principles, I’ve concocted a scrape. We’re both in it. We must back each other up.
Twitters. What do you want me to do?
Hunker. Well, I ain’t comfortable.