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.