)
Starbottle. Excuse me.
Concho. Eh?
Starbottle. You have forgotten something.
Conhho. Something?
Starbottle. An apology, sir. You were good enough to express--er--
incredulity--when I presented Mr. Morton: you were kind enough to
characterize the conduct of my er--principal by--an epithet. You
have alluded to me, sir,--ME--
Concho (wrathfully). Bully! (Aside.) I have heard that this
pomposo, this braggart, is a Yankee trick too; that he has the
front of a lion, the liver of the chicken. (Aloud.) Yes, I have
said, you hear I have said, I, Concho (striking his breast), have
said you are a--bully!
Starbottle (coolly). Then you are prepared to give me satisfaction,
sir,--personal satisfaction.
Concho (raging). Yes, sir, now--you understand, now (taking out
pistol), anywhere, here! Yes, here. Ah! you start,--yes, here and
now! Face to face, you understand, without seconds,--face to face.
So. (Presenting pistol.)
Starbottle (quietly). Permit me to--er--apologize.
Concho. Ah! It is too late!
Starbottle (interrupting). Excuse me, but I feared you would not
honor me so completely and satisfactorily. Ged, sir, I begin to
respect you! I accede to all your propositions of time and
position. The pistol you hold in your hand is a derringer, I
presume, loaded. Ah--er--I am right. The one I now produce
(showing pistol) is--er--as you will perceive the same size and
pattern, and--er--unloaded.
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