Chapter Ten.
Falkner Pugnacious.
“Well but—who are you? What’s your name? Ain’t ashamed of it, are you?”
“Ashamed of it? I’ll darned soon let you know if I am or not, and teach you to keep a civil tongue in your head into the bargain.”
Such was the dialogue that came to my ears very early on the morning following the events just recorded. The voices were right in front of my window and I chuckled, for I knew them both—knew one for that of my present host, the other for that of no less a personage than Falkner Sewin.
I repeat, I chuckled, for there was a side of the situation which appealed to my sense of humour. Falkner Sewin’s temper and dignity alike were ruffled. There was going to be a row. Falkner had long wanted taking down a peg. It was highly probable that the said lowering process would now be effected.
In about a moment I was at the window. The contending parties, by neither of whom was I observed, were drawn up in battle array. Falkner, who had apparently just arrived on horseback, had dismounted, and was advancing upon Kendrew in a sort of prize ring attitude. The latter for his part, simply stood and waited, his face wearing an expression of indifference that might be extremely provoking. No, I was not going to interfere—not yet. A little bloodletting would do Falkner no harm—or, for the matter of that, either of them.
“Come on,” sung out the latter. “Come on, can’t you. Not afraid, are you?”
“Not much. I’m waiting for you.”