LARK. No; but my wounded arm will! besides there’s that unlucky letter of mine, which Swansdown has promised to send to my wife.
SWANS. (producing letter) Here it is. If I don’t send it, what can I say?
WOOD. (taking the letter) Say? why—that you made a mistake in the handwriting—that it wasn’t Larkings’s after all!—but somebody else’s!—anybody’s—(suddenly)—Mine!
| LARK. and | } | Yours? |
| SWANS. |
WOOD. Yes! What’s the consequence? When it’s known that you and I have been fighting, no one will imagine it’s on account of Mrs. Swansdown, consequently her reputation will be saved!
SWANS. True! but zounds then! what have we been fighting about?
WOOD. Eh? oh, for the fun of the thing! or else some difference of opinion—(suddenly)—the war in America! that’s the very thing! you’re for the Federates! I’m for the Confederals!—that’ll do famously—it’ll save you (to SWANSDOWN) from being laughed at; you (to LARKINGS) from being buried alive in the country.
| SWANS. | } | And you? |
| LARK. |
WOOD. Never mind me. Woodcock’s got a little game of his own. (aside) It’s a capital idea—a sublime idea! (to SWANSDOWN) Now go home; and spread the report of our duel right and left; mention it at your butcher’s, baker’s, and candlestick maker’s—in short everywhere; and don’t forget you’re a Confederal—I mean—never mind; go along.
SWANSDOWN hurries out at L.