Topp. (Coming forward.) Mr. Twiggs, I owe you an apology. That little affair at your house was highly censurable, I assure you. Do you forgive me?
Twiggs. Of course! It was a little brusque, but nobody was hurt. You took me by surprise, but I’ll put on the gloves with you any time that suits your convenience.
Topp. (Grasping his hand.) Don’t think of such a thing, sir. At your age—
Twiggs. At my age—do you think I’m as ancient as the pyramids?
Topp. I beg pardon! (Confused, aside.) I must be more guarded.
Twiggs. All right, Topp! (Aside.) I’ll have to play old man if he is to be my son-in-law.
Topp. It is all forgotten. The hatchet is buried.
Twiggs. (Grasping Topp by hand.) My dear boy, the hatchet is in the bottom of the bay. (They shake.)
Topp. Then, to proceed to the point directly. I’m a man of few words. I want to pay my addresses to your daughter.