“Yes—a note requesting him to give them up to you, and at the same time I purpose sending him a challenge.”
“Oh, Jerusalem! a challenge, eh? Capital! That I am to deliver, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, what a lark! Nothing could suit me better. It’s quite in my line. By-the-way, you’d better say the bearer of your challenge is your friend, Captain Bradley.”
“I will do so. Captain Bradley, of the Horse Marines.”
“Or the Fall Backs. There’s magic in the word ‘captain,’” said Bradley, rubbing his hands together with great glee. “By-the-way, I ought to put on spurs, and wear a military coat.”
“It would be all the better.”
“I will do so, and at the same time assume a military bearing. I’ll astonish old Mangold Wurtzel; give it him hot and strong, without sugar. Egad! I’ll astonish his weak nerves.”
Mr. Eric Fortescue, as he called himself, wrote a dignified epistle, in which he demanded all that he had left at Stoke Ferry. This he supplemented with another, challenging the farmer to mortal combat.
Both these precious documents were given to Mr. Bradley, who was quite delighted with his mission.