MR. SMITHERS: There is that policeman again.

WHIPPET: About the neighborhood as usual.

MR. SMITHERS: I fear you are rather too familiar with him.

WHIPPET: He is not my gentleman. He merely helped me out in a spot of trouble once, but that was before I met you.

MR. SMITHERS: Walking home after dark, is it? Just look at that moustache.

WHIPPET: It is nothing.

MR. SMITHERS: Doesn’t your neighbor Tom sport a similar monstrosity on his lip?

WHIPPET: Dear Tom is so kind.

MR. SMITHERS: My men would give me no end of ribbing if I adopted the practice after declaring it vulgar and excessive.

WHIPPET: I fear my associations are so low as to invite derision.

MR. SMITHERS: There’s another one! That gentleman should know better.

WHIPPET: And what a nice dog!

MR. SMITHERS: Do you think I should beef up the old whiskers?

WHIPPET: You are perfect just as you are.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON AT THE HABERDASHERY

HABERDASHER: You’ll be wanting the wee little comb to go with the pomade.

MR. SMITHERS: I am uxorious in the extreme.

HABERDASHER: Most gentlemen are.

LUST WAS INVOLVED.