“I think it’s very offensive of you to call me that,” he said, wrathfully, “and it isn’t treating me as you ought to.”
“I beg your pardon,” said the man, humbly.
“And if you think,” Mr. Yorke went on fiercely, “that you can take advantage of my being young to refuse me satisfaction, I shall think you’re not very honorable, because you knew Belle had only me to protect her when you broke her heart. And I’ve come here to ask you, as a gentleman, to wait till I am twenty-one, so that I can fight you. It’s only eight years and two months, and I expect you to give me your word of honor that you will wait till then.”
“I will wait.”
“Thank you, sir.” Mr. Yorke became more friendly. “It’s only fair for me to tell you that I’m going to save up and buy a revolver and practise every day, so you had better do the same. I don’t want to take any advantage of you.”
“You’re a brave fellow,” said Hammond.
“Then I think that’s all. Good-morning, Mr. Hammond.”
“Good-morning, Mr. Yorke.”
Hammond rang the bell, and advanced to open the door of the room. Mr. Yorke was half-way out when he paused in the doorway.
“I say, Mr. Hammond,” he said, his manner suddenly changing to thorough boyishness, “do you mind promising me, as a great favor, that you won’t tell mother or Belle about this, or they mightn’t let me buy the revolver?”