“They birch fools,” says Harry, “and they cane bullies, and they fling puppies into the water.”
“Faith, then, there's some escapes drowning,” says the captain, who was an Irishman; and all the gentlemen began to laugh, and made poor Harry only more angry.
My Lord Mohun presently snuffed a candle. It was when the drawers brought in fresh bottles and glasses and were in the room—on which my lord viscount said—“The deuce take you, Mohun, how damned awkward you are! Light the candle, you drawer.”
“Damned awkward is a damned awkward expression, my lord,” says the other. “Town gentlemen don't use such words—or ask pardon if they do.”
“I'm a country gentleman,” says my lord viscount.
“I see it by your manner,” says my Lord Mohun. “No man shall say ‘damned awkward’ to me.”
“I fling the words in your face, my lord,” says the other; “shall I send the cards too?”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen! before the servants?” cry out Colonel Westbury and my Lord Warwick in a breath. The drawers go out of the room hastily. They tell the people below of the quarrel upstairs.
“Enough has been said,” says Colonel Westbury. “Will your lordships meet to-morrow morning?”
“Will my Lord Castlewood withdraw his words?” asks the Earl of Warwick.