Mr. Beaumaris reined in his own pair, and looked enquiringly over his shoulder. Mr. Byng, his florid countenance suffused by an angry flush, was engaged in backing his curricle, jabbing at his horses’ mouths in a way that showed how greatly moved he was. Once alongside the other curricle, he glared at Mr. Beaumaris, and demanded an explanation.
“Explanation of what?” said Mr. Beaumaris. “If you don’t take care, you’ll go off in an apoplexy one of these days, Poodle! What’s the matter?”
Mr. Byng pointed a trembling finger at Ulysses. “What’s the meaning of that? ” he asked belligerently. “If you think I’ll swallow any such damned insult—!”
He was interrupted. The two dogs, who had been eyeing one another measuringly from their respective vehicles, suddenly succumbed to a mutual hatred, uttered two simultaneous snarls, and leaped for one another’s throats. Since the curricles were too far apart to allow them to come to grips, they were obliged to vent their feelings in a series of hysterical objurgations, threats, and abuse, which drowned the rest of Mr. Byng’s furious speech.
Mr. Beaumaris, holding Ulysses by the scruff of his neck, laughed so much that he could hardly speak: a circumstance which did nothing to mollify the outraged Mr. Byng. He began to say that he should know how to answer an attempt to make him ridiculous, but was obliged to break off in order to command his dog to be quiet.
“No, no, Poodle, don’t call me out!” said Mr. Beaumaris, his shoulders still shaking. “Really, I had no such intention! Besides, we should only make fools of ourselves, going out to Paddington in the cold dawn to exchange shots over a pair of dogs!”
Mr. Byng hesitated. There was much in what Mr. Beaumaris said; moreover, Mr. Beaumaris was acknowledged to be one of the finest shots in England, and to call him out for a mere trifle would be an act of sheer foolhardiness. He said suspiciously: “If you’re not doing it to make a laughingstock of me, why are you doing it?”
“Hush, poodle, hush! You are treading on delicate ground!” said Mr. Beaumaris. “I cannot bandy a lady’s name about in the open street!”
“What lady? I don’t believe a word of il! Why can’t you make that damned mongrel be quiet?”
In lamentable contrast to his well-trained adversary, who was now seated virtuously beside his master again, and affecting a maddening deafness, Ulysses, convinced that he had cowed the contemptible dandy, was hurling extremely ignoble taunts at him. Mr. Beaumaris cuffed him, but although he cowered under the avenging hand he was quite unrepentant, and resumed his threats with unabated fervour.