Sir Luc. Well, the gentleman’s friend and I must settle that.— But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or commission I could execute for you?

Acres. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius, but I don’t understand—

Sir Luc. Why, you may think there’s no being shot at without a little risk—and if an unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it—I say it will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters.

Acres. A quietus!

Sir Luc. For instance, now—if that should be the case—would you choose to be pickled and sent home?—or would it be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey? I’m told there is very snug lying in the Abbey.

Acres. Pickled!—Snug lying in the Abbey!—Odds tremors! Sir Lucius, don’t talk so!

Sir Luc. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an affair of this kind before?

Acres. No, Sir Lucius, never before.

Sir Luc. Ah! that’s a pity!—there’s nothing like being used to a thing. Pray now, how would you receive the gentleman’s shot?

Acres. Odds files!—I’ve practised that—there, Sir Lucius—there. [Puts himself in an attitude.] A side- front, hey? Odd! I’ll make myself small enough? I’ll stand edgeways.

Sir Luc. Now—you’re quite out—for if you stand so when I take my aim—

[Levelling at him.

Acres. Zounds! Sir Lucius—are you sure it is not cocked?

Sir Luc. Never fear.

Acres. But—but—you don’t know—it may go off of its own head!

Sir Luc. Pho! be easy.—Well, now if I hit you in the body, my bullet has a double chance—for if it misses a vital part of your right side, ’twill be very hard if it don’t succeed on the left!

Acres. A vital part!

Sir Luc. But, there—fix yourself so—[Placing him]—let him see the broad-side of your full front—there—now a ball or two may pass clean through your body, and never do any harm at all.

Acres. Clean through me!—a ball or two clean through me!

Sir Luc. Ay—may they—and it is much the genteelest attitude into the bargain.

Acres. Look’ee! Sir Lucius—I’d just as lieve be shot in an awkward posture as a genteel one; so, by my valour! I will stand edgeways.

Sir Luc. [Looking at his watch.] Sure they don’t mean to disappoint us—Hah!—no, faith—I think I see them coming.

Acres. Hey!—what!—coming!—

Sir Luc. Ay.—Who are those yonder getting over the stile?