"Here," answered Figgins, pointing to an open space before him, "and my weapon is the sword."
"And mine's the pistol," said Mole. "I'll fight with that, and you with your sword."
"Agreed," said the excited Figgins, quite forgetting the impracticability of such an arrangement and the disadvantages it would give him.
Figgins had a battered sabre of the light curved, Turkish make, and Mole rejoiced in the possession of a very old-fashioned pistol.
Mole gave the latter to Girdwood, who volunteered to be his second, and who took care to put nothing in more dangerous than gunpowder.
"Now we're about to see a duel upon a quite original principle," cried Jack to his friends. "I don't think either of them can hurt the other much. I'll be your second, Figgins, my boy."
"All right. I take up my position here," cried the orphan, stationing himself under a tree near the brook.
"I shall stand here," said Mole, stopping at about half a dozen paces from him.
The orphan looked as though he intended to bolt behind the tree if Mole fired.
"Well, Master Harry, don't be in a hurry," said Figgins. "I am not quite ready, are you, Mr. Mole?"