_Mayor_—Remember November,—the hides of November, O remember. Did not great Fernando bleed for me and Peter and Edward’s sake? Who touched his carcase, and did stab, and not for me and Peter and young Edward? What! Shall they who struck the foremost man of all this city, but for supporting robbers,—shall we now use our fingers, save to grab the Mayor’s and all the Executive Departments? By all the bellonas and doughnuts of the world, I’d rather be a hog and grow as fat as Matsell, than to be a cadaverous crow, and live on vultures, and the shadows of the moon. _Charley_—Daniel: I’ll slap your chops. I’ll not stand it. You forget yourself to pen me in. I’m a contractor, I, older in practice, and sharper than yourself to make contracts. _Mayor_—Go to: You are not, Charley. _Charley_—Dam if I aint. _Mayor_—I say you are not. _Charley_—How dare you so excite my dander? Look out for your dimes. I had a father, and I was a baker. _Mayor_—Away spare man. _Charley_—Toads and frogs! Am I Charley, or am I not. Where’s the looking glass? _Mayor_—Hear me, for I’m dam’d if I dont belch. Must my bowels yield to your cholera? Shall I be frightened because the diarrhœa looks knives and scorpions through the windows of your liver? _Charley_—O, me. Must I stand this? O that I had a dough knife, to let out my honest blood. _Mayor_—This? ay, and a dam lot more. Growl till your liver bursts. Go and tell your contractors and office-holders, how hard you have got the diarrhœa, and make them tremble, lest you kick the bucket, and they get fleeced. Must I gouge? Must I lick you. Or must I get between your duck legs? By all the mush and Graham bread in the coat and boots and belly of Horace, you shall digest all the grub and gin you have gulched to-day, though it do split your spleen and kidneys. And henceforth I’ll use you as a brush and ladder for Peter and Edward and myself, to sweep the streets, and scale the gilded heights of Record Hall, at whose prolific and teeming hive we will suck your honey like bumble bees. _Charley_—O, where am I? _Mayor_—In a dam tight place. You say you are a better contractor. Prove it. Make your braggadocio true, and I’ll not grumble. There may be better contractors than me, but dam if I believe you are, though. _Charley_—O gingerbread! You gouge me every second, Daniel. I said an older contractor, not a better. I know you can make better contracts than me, in paint and oil and glass and putty, but I’m some on ginger-nuts and doughnuts, and affy-davy’s, and street openings. Did I say better? _Mayor_—I dont care a dam if you did. _Charley_—If the devil were here, you would not dare talk thus. _Mayor_—The devil is hard by, and you fear his claws, and dare not oppose his will. _Charley_—Dare not? _Mayor_—No. _Charley_—What! dare not oppose the devil? _Mayor_—What I have said, I have said. _Charley_—If you trifle too much with my liver, dam me if I don’t kick you, and give you a black eye.