“It’s his affair,” he answered with a shrug of the shoulders.
“I can’t fight a sick man,” I said, sharply. “Speak to the doctor about it.”
“But it’s so irregular,” he objected.
“I insist,” I declared.
He spoke to Astic and then to the Prince’s seconds and after some discussion, in which all four took part, they called the doctor up to them. Then his seconds spoke to the Prince and some angry words passed; and again the four seconds consulted. Then Nikolitch came to me looking angry and crestfallen.
“I’m sorry; but they think you’re afraid, Bergwyn,” he said.
“I don’t care a red cent what they think. Does the doctor say the Prince is fit to fight? He can hardly stand; look at him lurching there.”
“Oh, Astic says he’s all right: and he knows him.”
“Then he takes the responsibility. I won’t.”
“He’s only in a devil of a rage.”