Impecunious porcupine!
Whetstone.
Hypothecated buzzard!
[Lightning and thunder, while Scythe examines the sky with glass.
Fopdoodle.
Listen, Tom! I think I hear the police! The police! Let us be going!
Bluegrass.
Hold! ’Tis but the thunder, heaven’s police drilling near the distant horizon. Let their lanterns flash and their clubs smash the sky, but this duel shall go on.
Scythe.
Gentlemen, reload. [They reload.] Time! One, two,—