Spratt. A decrepit octogenarian, that was the epithet.
Gin. Dat’s it! A decreptive octogon—narium.
Topp. (To Tick.) Why, sir, this is infamous! This is actionable. The law sir—bother the law’s delays. I’ll call you out, sir.
Tick. To take a drink?
Topp. (Thunders.) To take a drink? No, sir. To the field of honor, sir, at thirty paces.
Tick. (Starts.) That’s a pretty small field.
Topp. Say forty paces then, I’m not particular. I demand satisfaction.
Tick. I always try to give my customers satisfaction.
Topp. Confound your customers. (Tick laughs heartily.) What are you laughing at, sir? (Tick laughs again. Shaking his fist at Tick.) Don’t provoke me! I cannot answer for the consequences. Commercial affairs have no place in an affair of honor.
Tick. My customers tell me that frequently. (Laughs.)