Part 13 (1/2)

_Mr. B._ But my dear sir--my good young friend, what was I to do? Hear me--listen--leave go--you'll tear my coat--let go, or she'll be back, and then I'm lost! Do you hear, you rascal! You'll tear my coat--there go my suspenders--there goes something else! I'll have you arrested for intent to do grievous bodily battery and commit violent matrimony--let go!

_Artist._ You old rascal--you old polypus--you old humbug--you are ruining me! (Rushes to one side and returns with club or stick. A fight ensues. Old gent strikes an att.i.tude with umbrella.)

_Mr. B._ Come on, Mac what's your name! and d.a.m.ned be he who first cries hold--enough!

_Artist_ (aside). I'll be hanged if the old buffer ain't swearing!

(Aloud.) By all the powers I'll be revenged! As sure as my name is Puttyblow I will be re-ve-n-ged! (Is about to rush at old gent.)

_Mr. B._ Pause, rash man! Did you say Puttyblow?

_Artist._ I did.

_Mr. B._ Have you a strawberry mark on your left arm?

_Artist._ Nature has ornamented me in the manner you describe.

_Mr. B._ Are you short-sighted in your left eye?

_Artist._ Such is my affliction.

_Mr. B._ Do you snore at nights?

_Artist._ So I have been informed by the people over the way, who have sent over several times to expostulate with me in the most offensive terms possible.

_Mr. B._ And sleep late in the morning?

_Artist._ I do.

_Mr. B._ (rus.h.i.+ng forward.) My long-lost son!

_Artist._ Excuse me for one moment. Have you a gooseberry bush on your left arm?

_Mr. B._ Gooseberry? No--no--not specially.

_Artist._ Do you wear corns or paper collars?

_Mr. B._ Well, I've had chilblains.

_Artist._ Are you subject to hydrophobia?

_Mr. B._ Well, not precisely; but I've been run over by a Broadway omnibus.

_Artist._ Are you in the habit of committing suicide?

_Mr. B._ Well--I--I--don't know--I travel on the Hudson River Railroad sometimes.

_Artist._ Come to my arms, my long-lost father!