“Serpent, Sir! 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 teapot at the head of the 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?”