The following morning was one of unusual bustle, activity, and anxiety, the originally intended movements of the party being thus unexpectedly interrupted. Dashall had arisen before his usual hour, and departed from home before the appearance of Sparkle and Bob to breakfast: it was, of course, supposed that the promised duel would have decided the fate of one of the antagonists before they should see him again.
In this conjecture, however, they were pleasingly disappointed by his arrival about half past eleven o'clock.
“Well,” said Sparkle, “it is all over—who has fallen—which is the man—how many shots—what distance—who was the other second—and where is the wounded hero?”
“Nay,” said Tom, “you are before-hand with me; I have none of the intelligence you require.—I have been in search of Lord Bluster, who left town this very morning, three hours before my arrival, for Edinburgh; and consesequently, I suppose, either has no intimation of Laconic's intention to seek, or if he has—is determined to be out of the way of receiving a regular challenge; so that, in all probability, it will end, like many other duels, in smoke.”
“Notwithstanding your friend's letter was so full of fire,” observed Tallyho.
“But perhaps he became more cool over a bottle of claret—toe to toe, my boy,” continued Sparkle.
This conversation was interrupted by a letter, which being delivered to Tom, he read aloud, interrupted only by laughter, which he could not restrain.
“Dear Tom, “Don't like fighting in England—am off directly for Cork.—Tell Bluster I'll wait there till he comes—but if he values his life, not to come at all.—-Please do the needful in despatching my servants, &c. within two days, for I am in such a passion I can't wait a moment.—So adieu.
“Yours, sincerely, Laconic.”
“Excellent, upon my word,” said Sparkle; “here are two men of honour determined upon meeting, running away from each other even before the preliminaries are arranged.”