Mineog: I’ll go lay down my own case and the way that you have my life threatened!

Hazel: I’ll get justice and a hearing.  The Judge will give in to my say!

Mineog: I that will put you under bail!  I’ll bind you over to quit prophesying!

Hazel: I’ll break the bail of the sun and moon before I’ll give you leave to go brand me with strange names the same as you would tarbrand a sheep!  I’ll put yourself and your Tribune under the law of libel!

Mineog: I’ll make a world’s wonder of you!  I’ll give plenty and enough to the Champion to fill out its windy pages that time!

Hazel:  (At door.) I will lay my information before you will overtake me!

Mineog:  (Seizing him.) I will lay my information against you for theft and you bringing away my coat!

Hazel: I have no intention of bringing it away!

Mineog: Is it that you will deny it?  Don’t I know that spot of grease on the sleeve?

Hazel: Did I never carve a goose?  Why wouldn’t there be a spot of grease on my own sleeve?

Mineog: Strip it off of you this minute!

Hazel: Give me back my own coat, so!

Mineog: What are you talking about!  That’s a great wonder now.  So it is not my own coat.

Hazel: Strip it off before you will quit the room!

Mineog: I’ll be well pleased casting it off!

Hazel: You will not cast it on the dust and the dirt of the floor! (Helps him.) Go easy now.——­That’s it——­

   (Takes it off gently and places it on chair.)

Mineog: Give me now my own coat!

Hazel:  (Struggling with it.) It fails me to get it off.

Mineog: What way did you get it on?

Hazel: It is that it is made too narrow.

Mineog: No, but yourself that has too much bulk.

Hazel:  (Struggling.) There now is a tear!

Mineog:  (Taking his arm.) Mind now, you’ll have it destroyed.

Hazel: Give me a hand, so.

Mineog:  (Helping him gently.) Have a care—­it’s a bit tender in the seams——­give me here your hand—­it is caught in the rip of the lining.

John:  (Coming in, puts pie on table.) Wait now, sir, till I’ll aid you to handle Mr. Hazel’s coat.

   (Whips off coat, takes up other coat, hangs both on pegs.)

The apple pie, Sir.

   (Hazel sits down, gasping and wiping his face. 
      Mineog turns his back.)

John: Is there anything after happening, Mr. Hazel?

Hazel: There is not—­unless some sort of a battle.

John: Ah, what signifies?  There to be more of battles in the world there would be less of wars.

   (He pushes Mineog’s chair to table.)