CHAPTER V—REVEREND CAMPBELL AND THE MAGPIE
It was as good as a study of character, the varying fashions wherein those interested received the story of Noah's clash with Catron. There was nothing told of it in the paper, for the port wine Duff was wise withal, and suppressed whatever of hunger may have possessed him to print a palatable piece of news. The General might not approve such type-freedoms; Eaton would doubtless distaste a notoriety of this hue for Peg; indeed, there might be others of consequence whom it would disturb. The port wine Duff carried a gulping appetite for public printing; it might befall that to offend would get between the legs of his anticipations and trip them up. Wherefore, neither Noah, Catron, Pigeon-breast, nor myself, was granted the contemplation of his valor by the pleasing light of ink; I, myself, did not consider this a deprivation; nor did Noah; nor Catron, so far as one might hear. But the chagrined Pigeon-breast bewailed it. He was quite crestfallen, and among intimates talked of the call for a court journal which should, like a similar imprint of St. James, delicately set forth the surprising deeds of our nobility.
It was I who gave the tale of that ballroom fight at Gadsby's to the General. He took it coolly; granted it, in sooth, a more quiet reception than I had hoped. The fair truth is, I was prepared for an explosion. I was pleasantly fooled; the General could not have displayed less temper had I related the breaking of a horse. And yet he made claim for slimmest detail; question after question on his part prolonged narration for an hour.
“It was the best that could be,” said the General, revolving the tangle in his mind. “The great thing is to stop folk's mouths; and a duel well fought, and with the right individual, is, as Noah says, the way to construct such condition. I've known the killing in proper form of one man to remove a slander from the conversation of a whole county. Folk let it fall of themselves and never took it up again.”
“This Catron,” said I, “was a noted fighter and had been out before.”
“Which is precisely,” responded the General, “what makes the work worth while. Here was a berserk, celebrated as one most frothingly prompt for blood. Now he is disposed of, it will tame your minor war-hawks. They'll not be half so ready; they may even surprise themselves with what they will hereafter forbear in favor of keeping the peace.”
Eaton, strange to tell, was moved of anger against Peg's champion.
“Sir,” said Eaton, bearing himself stiffly to Noah, “it is far to the wrong side of the regular that you should defend my wife. That is my privilege, sir; it does not rest with others.”