Pounce. You must consider a little, Sir Harry is your brother.
Sir Har. Three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds, four shillings and eightpence farthing! For what, I say? For what, sir?
Pounce. For what, sir! for what she wanted, sir; a fine lady is always in want, sir—her very clothes would come to that money in half the time.
Sir Har. Three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds, four shillings and eighteenpence farthing for clothes! Pray how many suits does she wear out in a year?
Pounce. Oh! dear sir, a fine lady's clothes are not old by being worn, but by being seen.
Sir Har. Well, I'll save her clothes for the future, after I have got her into the country. I'll warrant her she shall not appear more in this wicked town, where clothes are worn out by sight—And as to what you demand, I tell you, sir, 'tis extortion.
Tip. Sir Harry, do you accuse me of extortion?
Sir Har. Yes, I say extortion.
Tip. Mr. Pounce, write down that; there are very good laws provided against scandal and calumny—Loss of reputation may tend to loss of money.
Pounce. Item, "for having accused Mr. Tipkin of extortion."