MANGAN. Well, I am damned!
CAPTAIN SHOTOVER. I thought so. I was, too, for many years. The negress redeemed me.
MANGAN [feebly]. This is queer. I ought to walk out of this house.
CAPTAIN SHOTOVER. Why?
MANGAN. Well, many men would be offended by your style of talking.
CAPTAIN SHOTOVER. Nonsense! It's the other sort of talking that makes quarrels. Nobody ever quarrels with me.
- A gentleman, whose first-rate tailoring and frictionless manners proclaim the wellbred West Ender, comes in from the hall. He has an engaging air of being young and unmarried, but on close inspection is found to be at least over forty.
THE GENTLEMAN. Excuse my intruding in this fashion, but there is no knocker on the door and the bell does not seem to ring.
CAPTAIN SHOTOVER. Why should there be a knocker? Why should the bell ring? The door is open.
THE GENTLEMAN. Precisely. So I ventured to come in.
CAPTAIN SHOTOVER. Quite right. I will see about a room for you [he makes for the door].
THE GENTLEMAN [stopping him]. But I'm afraid you don't know who I am.
CAPTAIN SHOTOVER. DO you suppose that at my age I make distinctions between one fellow creature and another? [He goes out. Mangan and the newcomer stare at one another].
MANGAN. Strange character, Captain Shotover, sir.
THE GENTLEMAN. Very.
CAPTAIN SHOTOVER [shouting outside]. Hesione, another person has arrived and wants a room. Man about town, well dressed, fifty.
