The subject on which Woolsey had come to treat was an important one. “Mr. Eglantine,” says he, “there's no use disguising from one another that we are both of us in love with Miss Morgiana, and that our chances up to this time have been pretty equal. But that Captain whom you introduced, like an ass as you were—”
“An ass, Mr. Woolsey! I'd have you to know, sir, that I'm no more a hass than you are, sir; and as for introducing the Captain, I did no such thing.”
“Well, well, he's got a-poaching into our preserves somehow. He's evidently sweet upon the young woman, and is a more fashionable chap than either of us two. We must get him out of the house, sir—we must circumwent him; and THEN, Mr. Eglantine, will be time enough for you and me to try which is the best man.”
“HE the best man?” thought Eglantine; “the little bald unsightly tailor-creature! A man with no more soul than his smoothing-hiron!” The perfumer, as may be imagined, did not utter this sentiment aloud, but expressed himself quite willing to enter into any HAMICABLE arrangement by which the new candidate for Miss Crump's favour must be thrown over. It was accordingly agreed between the two gentlemen that they should coalesce against the common enemy; that they should, by reciting many perfectly well-founded stories in the Captain's disfavour, influence the minds of Miss Crump's parents, and of herself, if possible, against this wolf in sheep's clothing; and that, when they were once fairly rid of him, each should be at liberty, as before, to prefer his own claim.
“I have thought of a subject,” said the little tailor, turning very red, and hemming and hawing a great deal. “I've thought, I say, of a pint, which may be resorted to with advantage at the present juncture, and in which each of us may be useful to the other. An exchange, Mr. Eglantine: do you take?”
“Do you mean an accommodation-bill?” said Eglantine, whose mind ran a good deal on that species of exchange.
“Pooh, nonsense, sir! The name of OUR firm is, I flatter myself, a little more up in the market than some other people's names.”
“Do you mean to insult the name of Archibald Eglantine, sir? I'd have you to know that at three months—”
“Nonsense!” says Mr. Woolsey, mastering his emotion. “There's no use a-quarrelling, Mr. E.: we're not in love with each other, I know that. You wish me hanged, or as good, I know that!”
“Indeed I don't, sir!”