"Yes."
"Dot vos murter in der virst degree! I don't meed dot veller mit bistols!"
"But you will have to meet him now. If you refuse, you will be drummed out of school—you will be tarred and feathered."
"Bud I don'd like dot peesness uf sdanding oop to be shod ad mit a pullet oudt uf a bistol. Somepody mighd ged hurt, ain'd id?"
"Oh, there's no danger that you'll get hurt any more than to have a bullet through your head."
"Vot vos dot?" gurgled Hans. "A pullet drough mein headt. Shimminy Gristmas! Uf dot don'd vas pad enough, vot you vant? Oxcuse me!"
"Now, don't show the white feather," urged Frank. "That Yankee has done this to scare you. I don't believe he really thinks you will dare meet him with pistols, and so he is going to make a laughing stock of you."
"Vos dot his game? Vell, I pets you your life he makes der piggest misdake vot he nefer seen."
"That's the stuff! If you brace right up and pretend you are eager to fight with pistols, the chances are ten to one he'll back down before the word is given to fire."
"Vell, uf dot veller don'd dink I vos apout grazy for dot tuel, you can kick me mit der neck in."