“If you don’t apologize,” said Mr. Jevvings, firmly, “I shall thrash you!”
“Ho, yus, hin-deed!” derided Mr. Tridge. “Come on, then!” he invited, and posed himself combatantly.
Audible was the rustle of amazement that coursed through the spectators. Mr. Jevvings, rising, began to turn back his coat-cuffs. There was a tense hush.
And then, as the folds of a curtain may come sweeping down to suspend the action of a play, so did Mr. Horace Dobb and the landlord of the “Rose and Crown” effectively intervene at this juncture.
With a deft certainty of grasp, Mr. Dobb and the landlord took command of affairs. Smoothly and swiftly did they regularize the situation. Building from the foundation that a mere rough-and-ready scrap was unthinkable in the chaste altitudes of the “Rose and Crown’s” saloon bar, a scaffolding of suggestions was run up with a celerity which suggested previous consultations, and presently, within this scaffolding, the outlines took shape of a pugilistic encounter of considerable ceremony, involving a ring, judge, seconds, and all the other paraphernalia of the craft.
Mr. Tridge, listening interestedly, heard the arrangements brought to a conclusion with the fixing of a date at that day week for the encounter. Mr. Jevvings having signified his entire willingness to accept the terms of the contest, Mr. Tridge gave his own acquiescence to the programme, adding rather gratuitously that, on the Sunday afternoon following the contest he would call round at the hospital with a bunch of grapes for Mr. Jevvings. Alternately he proposed to send a handsome wreath of white flowers.
“Right you are, then—that’s all settled!” said Mr. Dobb, exchanging a glance of relief with the landlord. “And now, Joe, I think we’d better leave ’ere. Hettiquette, you know, hettiquettte! ’E was ’ere first, and it’s ’is privilege to remain.”
He seemed in some anxiety to remove Mr. Tridge from the scene, and, taking him by the arm, drew him to the door. Here he led the way out into the street. Mr. Tridge, with a farewell remark to the effect that his opponent would be well advised to catch measles before the week was out, was about to follow Mr. Dobb, when a stout gentleman solemnly stepped forward to pat his shoulder with approval.
“I admire your pluck,” stated the stout gentleman.
“Huh!” exclaimed Mr. Tridge, glancing scornfully at Mr. Jevvings. “It don’t need much pluck!”