Tick. (Producing knives from sack.) They are! (All start at sight of knives.)
Topp. (Surprised.) What in time are those implements?
Tick. The weapons.
Topp. Why, confound you, sir, I wont fight with a butcher’s cleaver.
Spratt. Corncutters, I beg your pardon.
Topp. A vulgar agricultural implement. I won’t fight with them.
Tick. I insist. I have the right to choose the weapons.
Topp. But only gentlemen’s weapons. I’ll have you understand, sir, that I do not choose to be hacked to pieces with a sausage machine. Dr. Short, I appeal to you.
Dr. Short. (With great deliberation.) Your objection is reasonable, and I may add, most weighty. This uncouth weapon is unusual, and—and, vulgar, I use the word vulgar advisedly in the sense of common, without casting any reflection on this humble but useful agricultural tool.