"Never!" exclaimed the Major, clenching his fists.
"Tush!" exclaimed the Colonel, snuffing. "As ya' friend, Jack, 'tis my duty to see ya' happily married and I'll be damned if I don't. Wedlock 'twixt man and woman is—is—ah, is well, marriage. There's little Mrs. Wadhurst over at Sevenoaks—a shape, Jack, an eye and a curst alluring nose. Hast ever noticed her nose?"
"No!" snarled the Major.
"Ha!" sighed the Colonel. "Not to ya' taste, belike. Why then there's Lady Lydia Flyte—a widow, Jack—another neighbour—a comely piece, man, bright eyes, wealthy and sufficiently plump——"
"Ha' done!" snapped the Major, puffing smoke.
"Dooce take ya'!" snarled the Colonel, scattering snuff. "Begad, man Jack, ya' damned peevish and contrary, y'are 'pon my life! If I wasn't the most patient, long-suffering, meek and mild soul i' the world I should be inclined to lose my temper over ya' damned stubbornness—rot me, I should!" At this the Major chuckled..
"Your meekness, George, hath ever been equalled only by your humility!" said he.
"Nay, but man Jack, look'ee now—'tis not that I would ram my own happiness down thy throat, but to see thee so glum and spiritless, damps my own joy doocedly. And the word glum brings us back to petticoats."
"Nay George, for mercy's sake no more——"
"But comrade, a petticoat should be—ah—should be, a petticoat is—is a—ha!"