Mr. Punch. Haha! Ours is no imaginary, bellows-blown flight, as was yours, worthy knight, when seated with Sancho on the wooden crupper of Clavileno, pressed aforetime by the valourous Peter of Provence, and the fair Magalona!
Don Quixote. Nay, indeed, Sir Knight of the Spotted Bucephalus—for thou art no chivalry-scorning Trifaldi—we are not now blindfolded, and thy Pegasus, thy Brilladoro, thy Bayarte, thy Frontino, thy Clavileno el Aligero—or Wooden-Peg the Winged—might give a lead even to my renowned Rosinante!
Mr. Punch. Blindfolded? Nay, dear knight, I am the Dazzling Illuminator, not the Bewildering Blinder!
Don Quixote. I plainly perceive that thou art a Progressive.
Mr. Punch. I am a Progressive Moderate and a Moderate Progressive. Badge me not therefore in any less comprehensive fashion, O Knight of the Rueful Countenance.
Don Quixote. I presume, Sir Sage, that those same Progressives, however, who claim to initiate all the forthright movement of the Age, did originate and invent the motor-carriages, auto-cycles, and other the horseless locomotive vehicles of which we spake but now?
Mr. Punch. Who better than yourself should know, my dear Don, that all are not Progressives who make a stir about Progress? Like the circumgyrators in the game of "Giant's Stride," many of them ramp round in a circle, and "get no forrader." I am the only true and trustworthy Progressive, and my auto-motor cuts all records!
Don Quixote. And is it propelled by petroleum?
Mr. Punch. By nothing so crude, flaring, and fuliginous, dear Don. It is "motived" by—Light!