“Oh, it's merely Curtis romancing with the most unmitigated effrontery, about something that neither he, nor any one else, ever did out hunting,” replied Archer; “a tremendous leap, I fancy it was.”
“Do not be too sure that it is impossible,” replied I; “a horse once cleared the mouth of a chalk pit with me on its back, when I was a boy; Lawless remembers it.” “Eh! what? Mad Bess!” returned Lawless; “I should think I did too; I rode there afterwards and examined the place—a regular break-neck-looking hole as ever I saw in my life. Tell 'em about it, Frank.”
Thus called upon, no choice was left me but to commence the recital, which, although there are few things to which I have a greater objection than being the hero of my own story, I accordingly did. Several remarks were made as I concluded, but, owing either to my well-known dislike of exaggeration, or to the air of truthfulness with which I had told the tale, nobody seemed inclined to doubt that the adventure had occurred in the manner I related, although it was of a more incredible nature than the feat Curtis had recounted. This fact had just excited my attention, when Wilford, turning to the man on his right hand, observed: “It's a great pity that some one hasn't taken notes of this evening's conversation; they would have afforded materials for a new volume of the adventures of Baron Munchausen”.
My only answer to this remark, which was evidently intended for my hearing, was a slight smile, for I had determined I would not again be betrayed into any altercation with him, and, being now on my guard, I felt pretty sure of being able to maintain my resolution. To my annoyance Oaklands replied: “If your remark is intended to throw any discredit upon the truth of the anecdote my friend has related, I must be excused for observing that Lawless and I, though not actually eyewitnesses of the leap, are yet perfectly aware that it took place”.
“Was that observation addressed to me, Mr. Oaklands?” inquired Wilford, regarding Oaklands with an insolent stare.
"To you, sir, or to any other man who ventures to throw a doubt on what Fairlegh has just stated,” replied Oaklands, his brow flushing with anger.
“Really,” observed Wilford, with a contemptuous sneer, “Mr. Fairlegh is most fortunate in possessing such a steady and useful friend: first, when he dictates to Lawless what toasts he is to propose at his own table, and threatens the company generally with the weight of his displeasure should they venture to question the propriety of his so doing, Mr. Oaklands kindly saves him from the consequences of this warlike declaration, by advancing the somewhat novel doctrine, that his friend, having spoken unadvisedly, ought not to act up to the tenor of his words. Again, Mr. Fairlegh relates a marvellous tale of his earlier days, and Mr. Oaklands is prepared to visit the most trifling indication of disbelief with the fire and faggots of his indignation. Gentlemen, I hope you are all good and true Fairleghites, or you will assuredly be burned at the stake, to satisfy the bigotry of Pope Oaklands the First.”
During this speech I could perceive by the veins on his forehead, swollen almost to bursting, his firmly set teeth, and his Viands clenched till the blood was forced back from the nails, that Oaklands was striving to master his passion; apparently he succeeded in a great measure, for, as Wilford concluded, he spoke calmly and deliberately: “The only reply, sir,” he began, “that I shall deign to make to your elaborate insult is, that I consider it as such, and shall expect you to render me the satisfaction due to a gentleman”.
“No, Harry,” exclaimed I, “I cannot permit this: the quarrel, if it be a quarrel, is mine; on this point I cannot allow even you to interfere. Mr. Wilford shall hear from me.”
“No, no!” exclaimed Lawless; “I'm sure you must see, Wilford, that this is not at all the sort of thing, eh? recollect Oaklands and Fairlegh are two of my oldest friends, and something is due to me at all events, eh?—Archer—Curtis—this cannot be allowed to go on.”