will hear you. No--that is--(stops, confused and embarrassed.
Aside.) She will hear of my disgrace. He will tell her the whole
story.

Starbottle. I shall await your apology one hour. At the end of
that time, if it is not forthcoming, I shall--er--er--waive your
menial antecedents, and expect the--er--satisfaction of a
gentleman. Good-morning, sir. (Turns to schoolhouse.)

Sandy. No, no: you shall not go!

Starbottle. Who will prevent me?

Sandy (grappling him). I will. (Appealingly.) Look yer,
stranger, don't provoke me, I, a desperate man, desperate and
crazed with drink,--don't ye, don't ye do it! For God's sake, take
your hands off me! Ye don't know what ye do. Ah! (Wildly,
holding STARBOTTLE firmly, and forcing him backward to precipice
beyond ledge of rocks.) Hear me. Three years ago, in a moment
like this, I dragged a man--my friend--to this precipice. I--I--
no! no!--don't anger me now! (Sandy's grip on STARBOTTLE relaxes
slightly, and his head droops.)

Starbottle (coolly). Permit me to remark, sir, that any reminiscence
of your--er--friend--or any other man is--er--at this moment,
irrelevant and impertinent. Permit me to point out the--er--fact,
sir, that your hand is pressing heavily, demned heavily, on my
shoulder.

Sandy (fiercely). You shall not go!