Bertie. I cawn’t talk to you, you know. Because you’re no gentleman, see?
Blake. Why, you little shrimp, who the deuce are you to talk about gentlemen? You’re not a plumber, nor a gentleman, either. You’re up to some game. I’ll just unmask you. (Pulls off Bertie’s slouch hat, Bertie screams, Blake pulls off his false whiskers. Bertie hits him but Blake doesn’t mind it.)
Bertie. (Gasping.) You—you fellah—
Blake. Don’t try that game or I’ll pulverize you.
Bertie. (Squaring.) Don’t you twy that. I—weally, I may hurt somebody.
Blake. Young man, what are you doing in this club, sneaking in here in disguise? (Sternly.) Give an account of yourself.
Bertie. (Shrinking back.) Weally, don’t be wash, you know. I came heah to meet the pearl of her sex.
Enter Dollie, L., overhears, stops.
Dollie. (Hand to mouth.) Me!