“To say the truth,” I replied, “that is one of my chief objections to going. Lawless I like, for the sake of old recollections, and because he is at bottom a well-disposed, good-hearted fellow; but I cannot approve of the set of men one meets there. It is not merely their being what is termed 'fast' that I object to; for though I do not set up for a sporting character myself, I am rather amused than otherwise to mix occasionally with that style of men; but there is a tone of recklessness in the conversation of the set we meet there, a want of reverence for everything human and divine, which, I confess, disgusts me—they seem to consider no object too high or too low to make a jest of.”
“I understand the kind of thing you refer to,” answered Oaklands, “but I think it's only one or two of them who offend in that way; there is one man who is my particular aversion; I declare if I thought he'd be there to-night I would not go.”
“I think I know who you mean,” replied I; “Stephen Wilford, is it not? the man they call 'Butcher,' from some brutal thing he once did to a horse.”
“You're right, Frank; I can scarcely sit quietly by and hear that man talk. I suppose he sees that I dislike him, for there is something in his manner to me which is almost offensive; really at times I fancy he wishes to pick a quarrel with me.”
“Not unlikely,” said I; “he has the reputation of being a dead shot with the pistol, and on the strength of it he presumes to bully every one.”
“He had better not go too far with me,” returned Oaklands, with flashing eyes; “men are not to be frightened like children; such a character as that is a public nuisance.”
“He will not be there to-night, I am glad to say,” replied I, “for I met him yesterday when I was walking with Lawless, and he said he was engaged to Wentworth this evening; but, my dear Harry, for Heaven's sake avoid any quarrel with this man; should you not do so, you will only be hazarding your life unnecessarily, and it can lead to no good result.”
“My dear fellow, do I ever quarrel with anybody? there is nothing worth the trouble of quarrelling about in this world; besides, it would be an immense fatigue to be shot,” observed Harry, smiling.
“I have no great faith in your pacific sensations, for they are nothing more,” rejoined I; “your indolence always fails you where it might be of use in subduing (forgive me for using the term) your fiery temper; besides, in allowing a man of this kind to quarrel with you, you give him just the opportunity he wants; in fact you are completely playing his game.”
“Well, I can't see that exactly; suppose the worst comes to the worst, and you are obliged to fight him, he stands nearly as good a chance of being killed as you do.”