“But how can I get anybody if I’m dead? I don’t want to fight any duel, anyway.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want. You leave it to me. I’ll fix somebody to carry on the vendetta if we’re both shot!”
Tom considered for a long time, sitting on the bed, half undressed, his chin on his hand.
“I’ll tell you what!” he cried, jumping up, “we’ll issue an ‘ultermaterm.’”
“A what?”
“A ultermaterm. Gimme some pencil an’ paper, quick.”