Scowl.—More fool you. But if I can be of any service to you in the combat way,—I can fight with a sword in each hand, a dagger in my mouth, and a bayonet in my eye. What do you think of that?
Manager.—Astonishing!
Scowl.—My friend Mr. Fitz-Growl has written me an excellent new part.
Manager.—What's that about?
Fitz-Growl.—Oh! nothing particular. I write down a few horrors, make a list of the murders, and my friend Scowl knows what to be up to.
Manager.—Really, gentlemen, I don't see that we can come to terms.
Fitz-Growl.—Don't see!—what! you don't want my pieces?
Scowl.—Nor my acting?
Manager.—Neither, gentlemen, I thank you.
Fitz-Growl.—Then I'll go home and write a melodrama, called the "Doomed Manager," and you shall be the hero.