“Never,” was the reply. “But I dare say it’s something damnable—as bad, perhaps, as breaking a vitriol-bottle over a person’s face—or else you wouldn’t know anything about it.”
“You’re right there, Jack: it’s gouging that I mean.”
“And what’s gouging, pray?”
“Tearing a fellow’s eye out of its socket,” answered Vitriol Bob.
“One can play at that game as well as another,” observed the Doctor, totally unmoved by the horrid nature of the conversation.
“To be sure: and we shall sooner or later see who beats at it.”
Another pause succeeded this last remark of Vitriol Bob; and again did the two men sit contemplating each his enemy with a composure that was unnatural and dreadful to a degree under the circumstances.
Time wore on in this manner: their glasses were frequently replenished—and yet the liquor appeared not to produce the least effect upon them; but, cool, collected, and self-possessed, they sate measuring each other’s form and calculating its strength, until darkness insensibly stole upon them. The waiter then entered to light the gas; and several frequenters of the house began to drop in to take their evening’s allowance of alcoholic drink and stupifying tobacco.
At length Jack Rily rose, and, looking hard at his enemy, said, “I am going now.”
“Wery well,” returned Vitriol Bob: “I’ll keep you company.”