Alec.
I saw you cleaning it less than an hour ago.
George.
[With a shrug of the shoulders.] Perhaps it's in my tent, I'll go and see.
Alec.
[Sharply.] Stop here.
George.
[Angrily.] You've no right to talk to me like that. I'm sick to death of being ordered about. You seem to think I'm a dog. I came out here of my own free will, and I won't let you treat me as if I were a servant.
Alec.
If you put your hand to your hip pocket, I think you'll find your revolver there.