Peter: [RUBS HIS EYES.]
Scampi: Did you just wake up?
Peter: No, no. I am merely enjoying a little midmorning constitutional.
Scampi: Like a walk?
Peter: I am facilitating blood flow.
Scampi: Is it working?
Peter: I feel a surge of renewed vigour.
Scampi: Can you touch your toes?
Peter: That’s private.
Scampi: It isn’t.
Peter: A man’s body is his—
Peter: None of that, now.
Scampi: Heh. Har.
Peter: You are up to no good.
Scampi: Says who?
Peter: That is my opinion.
Scampi: Based on what?
Peter: Based on the diabolical noises you were just making.
Scampi: Always something.
Scampi: There’s a hole in your sock.
Scampi: Your stocking.
Peter: I do not wear stockings.
Scampi: Your stocking feet. That’s how they said it.
Peter: Who did?
Scampi: You know. The people.
Peter: Oh, naturally.
Scampi: Maybe the floor isn’t smooth enough.
Peter: Or the peanut butter.
Scampi: Are you lonely, Peter?
Peter: You have an issue with peanut butter?
Scampi: We can overlook that for the moment. Are you lonelier?
Peter: Than I was when last you asked?
Scampi: It’s kind of wistful. How you’re staring out the window.
Peter: [PICKS AT DEBRIS ENCRUSTED ON HIS NECKTIE.]
Scampi: Your cravat is less than laundered.
Peter: [taking umbrage] My cravat is composed of the finest silk. It does not get laundered.
Scampi: Chinese silk?
Scampi: Is it?
Peter: I do not know.
Scampi: Doesn’t even know the provenance of his filthy necktie.
Peter: Uncalled for.
Scampi: I’ll call for it. Seres! Cerebus! Here, boy.
Peter: Are you speaking to my garments?
Scampi: No less. Your silks, I am.
Peter: Is that a riddle?
Scampi: Are you an equestrian?
Peter: I am not.
Scampi: Did you know something?
Peter: I did. I continue to know it.
Scampi: Jockeys wear silks. Did you know that?
Peter: Perhaps. Most likely.
Scampi: Didn’t think so. That’s what what they wear’s called, their outfit.
Scampi: Their costume. Silks.
Peter: A light, attractive, yet durable fabric.
Scampi: I could wash your tie.
Peter: I don’t doubt it.
Scampi: Tell me what you see right now.
Peter: Which direction am I looking in?
Scampi: I don’t know. What do you see?
Peter: Immediately? Or in the distance?
Scampi: Have you ever been to Spain?
Peter: I have not.
Peter: Why do you ask?
Scampi: Just curious.
Peter: I can see the view. And the pores in my nose.
Scampi: Pores. Yech.
Peter: Have you been to Spain?
Scampi: Who hasn’t?
PETER REMOVES HIS EYEGLASSES AND POLISHES THEM ON HIS THOROUGHLY-WORN NECKTIE OF FINEST INDIAN SILK.
Peter: I like the view from this window (of course),
Scampi: (of course)
Peter: but the sky is rather overcast.
Scampi: And that’s not something you like. Not something you’re a big fan of.
Peter: A fan? Am I a fan?
Scampi: You sound like a cockatoo, at present.
PETER SMOOTHES HIS FEATHERS WITH DIGNITY.
Peter: Say what you will.
Scampi: I shall.
Scampi: I shell. Shell on a shore. You know that whole thing about shells, right? Peter?
Peter: Are we discussing military history?
Scampi: No, please. I mean a shell on a beach.
Peter: An army could locate—
Scampi: It could be any beach, one of those hollow type shells.
Peter: A conch.
Scampi: Or whatever. Have you ever put one up to your ear?
Peter: In order to aurally witness “the sea”?
Scampi: You haven’t?
Peter: Well, I don’t think so.
Scampi: You don’t know? You don’t even know if you did or if you didn’t?
Peter: I am unsure.
Scampi: Yes. I thought maybe you were lonely.
Peter: You are entitled to your thoughts.
Scampi: I entitle my thought regularly. As you well know.
Peter: I’m not sure when I was last on a beach.
Scampi: You don’t have to be on the beach to hear the shell. You can be at home.
Peter: With a shell.
Scampi: Yes. You bring it home, and then the sound of the sea is only an arm’s length away.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: You hear. That’s how it works.
Peter: I don’t believe it does work, in fact.
Scampi: No, I know. I was just curious.
Peter: To know whether I had tried it?
Scampi: That’s right.
Peter: Have you tried this? With the shell?
Scampi: Nonsense. I can hear the sea right now.
Scampi: I am up to my ankles.
Peter: It looks like rain.
Scampi: It certainly doesn’t taste that way.