BOX. Your bed? Hark ye, sir—can you fight?
COX. No, sir.
BOX. No? Then come on (sparring at COX).
COX. Sit down, sir, or I’ll instantly vociferate “Police!”
BOX (seats himself. COX does the same). I say, sir—
COX. Well, sir?
BOX. Although we are doomed to occupy the same room for a few hours longer, I don’t see any necessity for our cutting each other’s throats, sir.
COX. Not at all. It’s an operation that I should decidedly object to.
BOX. And, after all, I’ve no violent animosity to you, sir.