hastily closed, on the entrance of Mr. Pott, who, stalking majestically towards him, and thrusting aside his proffered hand, ground his teeth, as if to put a sharper edge on what he was about to utter, and exclaimed, in a saw-like voice,—
"Serpent!"
"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. Winkle, starting from his chair.
"Serpent, sir," repeated Mr. Pott, raising his voice, and then suddenly depressing it; "I said, Serpent, sir—make the most of it."
When you have parted with a man, at two o'clock in the morning, on terms of the utmost good fellowship, and he meets you again, at half-past nine, and greets you as a serpent, it is not unreasonable to conclude that something of an unpleasant nature has occurred meanwhile. So Mr. Winkle thought. He returned Mr. Pott's gaze of stone, and in compliance with that gentleman's request, proceeded to make the most he could of the "serpent." The most, however, was nothing at all; so, after a profound silence of some minutes' duration, he said,—
"Serpent, sir! in Serpent, Mr. Pott! What can you mean, sir?—this is pleasantry."
"Pleasantry, sir!" exclaimed Pott, with a motion of the hand, indicative of a strong desire to hurl the Britannia metal tea-pot at the head of his visitor. "Pleasantry, sir!———but no, I will be calm; I will be calm, sir;" in proof of his calmness, Mr. Pott flung himself into a chair, and foamed at the mouth.
"My dear sir," interposed Mr. Winkle.
"Dear sir!" replied Pott. "How dare you address me, as dear sir, sir? How dare you look me in the face and do it, sir?"
"Well, sir, if you come to that," responded Mr. Winkle, "how dare you look me in the face, and call me a serpent, sir?"
"Because you are one," replied Mr. Pott.
"Prove it, sir," said Mr. Winkle, warmly. "Prove it."
A malignant scowl passed over the profound face of the
