“We have nothing farther to say, sir, I think,” he coldly remarked, as he opened the case; “an apology has been resolutely declined.”
“Nothing, sir,” said Mr. Snodgrass, who began to feel rather uncomfortable himself.
“Will you step forward?” said the officer.
“Certainly,” replied Mr. Snodgrass. The ground was measured, and preliminaries arranged.
“You will find these better than your own,” said the opposite second, producing his pistols. “You saw me load them. Do you object to use them?”
“Certainly not,” replied Mr. Snodgrass. The offer relieved him from considerable embarrassment, for his previous notions of loading a pistol were rather vague and undefined.
“We may place our men, then, I think,” observed the officer, with as much indifference as if the principals were chess-men, and the seconds players.
“I think we may,” replied Mr. Snodgrass; who would have assented to any proposition, because he knew nothing about the matter. The officer crossed to Doctor Slammer, and Mr. Snodgrass went up to Mr. Winkle.
“It’s all ready,” he said, offering the pistol. “Give me your cloak.”
“You have got the packet, my dear fellow,” said poor Winkle.