BOX. [_Sitting down on chair, at one side of table, and following COX'S movements._] Will you allow me to observe, if you have not had any exercise to-day, you'd better go out and take it. COX. I shall not do anything of the sort, sir. [_Seating himself at the table opposite BOX._ BOX. Very well, sir. COX. Very well, sir! However, don't let me prevent _you_ from going out. BOX. Don't flatter yourself, sir. [_COX is about to break a piece of the roll off._] Holloa! that's my roll, sir-- [_Snatches it away--puts a pipe in his mouth, lights it with a piece of tinder--and puffs smoke across to COX._ COX. Holloa! What are you about, sir? BOX. What am I about? I'm about to smoke. COX. Wheugh! [_Goes and opens window at BOX'S back._ BOX. Holloa! [_Turns round._] Put down that window, sir! COX. Then put your pipe out, sir! BOX. There! [_Puts pipe on table._ COX. There! [_Slams down window and re-seats himself._ BOX. I shall retire to my pillow. [_Goes up, takes off his jacket, then goes towards bed, and sits down upon it, L. C._ COX. [_Jumps up, goes to bed, and sits down on R. of BOX._] I beg your pardon, sir--I cannot allow any one to rumple my bed. [_Both rising._] BOX. _Your_ bed? Hark ye, sir--can you fight? COX. No, sir. BOX. No? Then come on-- [_Sparring at COX._ COX. Sit down, sir--or I'll instantly vociferate "Police!" BOX. [_Seats himself--COX does the same._] I say, sir---- COX. Well, sir? BOX. Although we are doomed to occupy the same room for a few hours longer, I don't see any necessity for our cutting each other's throats, sir. COX. Not at all. It's an operation that I should decidedly object to. BOX. And, after all, I've no violent animosity to you, sir. COX. Nor have I any rooted antipathy to you, sir. BOX. Besides, it was all Mrs. Bouncer's fault, sir. COX. Entirely, sir. [_Gradually approaching chairs._] BOX. Very well, sir! COX. Very well, sir! [_Pause._] BOX. Take a bit of roll, sir? COX. Thank ye, sir. [_Breaking a bit off. Pause._] BOX. Do you sing, sir? COX. I sometimes join in a chorus. BOX. Then give us a chorus. [_Pause._] Have you seen the Bosjemans, sir? COX. No, sir--my wife wouldn't let me. BOX. Your _wife!_ COX. That is--my _intended_ wife. BOX. Well, that's the same thing! I congratulate you! [_Shaking hands._] COX. [_With a deep sigh._] Thank ye. [_Seeing BOX about to get up._] You needn't disturb yourself, sir. She won't come here. BOX. Oh! I understand. You've got a snug little establishment of your own _here_--on the sly--cunning dog--[_Nudging COX._] COX. [_Drawing himself up._] No such thing, sir--I repeat, sir--no such thing, sir, but my wife--I mean, my _intended_ wife--happens to be the proprietor of a considerable number of bathing-machines---- BOX. [_Suddenly._] Ha! Where? [_Grasping COX'S arm._] COX. At a favorite watering-place. How curious you are! BOX. Not at all. Well?