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He lost his self-control, and said, in an audible voice:
"You're only a scraper of catgut, anyhow."
M. Bartin, also oblivious of the proprieties, retorted, louder still:
"And what are you but an infernal screech owl?"
Cries of "Hallo!" "What's the row?" "Hush!" and "For shame!" rose from
all parts of the room, and the two musical gentlemen, conscious that
they had grossly misconducted themselves, stepped back a yard from each
other, and were immediately surrounded by several friends, and kindly
told that they were a pair of fools.
Mrs. Slapman and Overtop rushed to the spot. The latter measured the two
combatants with his eye, to see if he could safely undertake to pitch
both, or either of them, out of the room, if requested so to do by the
widow, and concluded that he could not.
Mrs. Slapman was much embarrassed by this painful outbreak. It was only
three weeks ago that M. Bartin had dedicated a new quadrille to her; and
but a fortnight since Signor Mancussi had sung four operatic airs
gratuitously at one of her musical and dramatic _soirees_.


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