The patch at the corner of the Honourable Horatio's mouth quivered for a moment. "Really, my dear Sir John--" he began.
"You sent a set of verses to my daughter, sir," Jack broke in, "well, damme, sir, I don't like poetry!"
"I do not doubt it for a moment, sir," says Mr. Tawnish, "but these were written, if you remember, to--the lady."
"Exactly," cries Jack, "and you will understand, sir, that I forbid poetry, once and for all--curse me, sir, I'll not permit it!"
"This new French sauce that London is gone mad over is a thought too strong of garlic, to my thinking," says Mr. Tawnish, flicking a stray grain of snuff from his cravat. "You will, I think, agree with me, Sir John, that to a delicate palate--"
"The devil anoint your French sauce, sir," cries Jack, in a fury, "who's talking of French sauces?"
"My very dear Sir John," says Mr. Tawnish, with an engaging smile, "when one topic becomes at all--strained, shall we say?--I esteem it the wiser course to change the subject, having frequently proved it to have certain soothing and calming effects--hence my sauce."
Here Bentley sneezed and coughed both together and came nigh choking outright (a highly dangerous thing in one of his weight), which necessitated my loosening his steenkirk and thumping him betwixt the shoulder-blades, while Jack strode up and down, swearing under his breath, and Mr. Tawnish took another pinch of snuff.
"French sauce, by heaven!" cries Jack suddenly, "did any man ever hear the like of it?--French sauce!" and herewith he snatched off his wig and trampled upon it, and Bentley choked himself purple again. I will admit that Jack's round bullet head, with its close-cropped, grizzled hair standing on end, would have been a whimsical, not to say laughable sight in any other (Bentley for instance)--but Jack in a rage is no laughable matter.
"By the Lord, sir," cries he, turning upon Mr. Tawnish, who sat cross-legged, regarding everything with the same mild wonderment--"by the Lord! I'd call you out for that French sauce if I thought you were a fighting man."
"Heaven forfend!" exclaimed Mr. Tawnish, with a gesture of horror, "violence of all kinds is abhorrent to my nature, and I have always regarded the duello as a particularly clumsy and illogical method of settling a dispute."
Hereupon Jack looked about him in a helpless sort of fashion, as indeed well he might, and catching sight of his wig lying in the middle of the floor, promptly kicked it into a corner, which seemed to relieve him somewhat, for he went to it and, picking it up again, knocked out the dust upon his knee, and setting it on very much over one eye, sat himself down again, flushed and panting, but calm.