Now Mr. Winkle had opened his eyes, and his ears too, when he heard his adversary call out for a cessation of hostilities; and perceiving by what he had afterwards said, that there was, beyond all question, some mistake in the matter, he at once foresaw the increase of reputation he should inevitably acquire by concealing the real motive of his coming out: he therefore stepped boldly forward, and said—
“I am not the person. I know it.”
“Then, that,” said the man with the camp-stool, “is an affront to Dr. Slammer, and a sufficient reason for proceeding immediately.”
“Pray be quiet, Payne,” said the Doctor’s second. “Why did you not communicate this fact to me this morning, sir?”
“To be sure—to be sure,” said the man with the camp-stool, indignantly.
“I entreat you to be quiet, Payne,” said the other. “May I repeat my question, sir?”
“Because, sir,” replied Mr. Winkle, who had had time to deliberate upon his answer, “because, sir, you described an intoxicated and ungentlemanly person as wearing a coat which I have the honour, not only to wear, but to have invented—the proposed uniform, sir, of the Pickwick Club in London. The honour of that uniform I feel bound to maintain, and I therefore, without inquiry, accepted the challenge which you offered me.”
“My dear sir,” said the good-humoured little Doctor, advancing with extended hand, “I honour your gallantry. Permit me to say, sir, that I highly admire your conduct, and extremely regret having caused you the inconvenience of this meeting, to no purpose.”
“I beg you won’t mention it, sir,” said Mr. Winkle.
“I shall feel proud of your acquaintance, sir,” said the little Doctor.