How then, my boy, how then?
Bluegrass.
Listen to the conditions of the duel. At a distance of two paces, you and Fopdoodle, each aided by his respective second, will each respectively select, for each fire from his inexhaustible dictionary or armory, one animal noun for his projectile, and one adjective,—for your adjective is your gunpowder to your bullet of a noun. These two, to wit: one animal noun and one adjective, each of you will form into a cartridge, or epithet, and at the word Fire each will fire it at his adversary.
Whetstone.
Bless you, my boy, we are saved! You shall always be editor of the Eagle. My boy, you must have known I didn’t want to kill him. Major, stand by me to the last.
Bluegrass.
I’ll do it. I am a connoisseur in epithets; and your animal noun with adjective conjoined is a terrible weapon. O book, how like a poet thou art!—in pleasant moods full of balmlike words, but in anger javelined like a porcupine. Be thou a cage filled to the cover’s brim with fierce animal nouns which fret their paper cage of leaves to pounce upon the enemy. Remember, at each fire call him some outrageous animal, and exploit the animal with an explosive adjective.
Whetstone.
I’ll do it. The gourd-headed baboon!
[Rooster crows.