Harry’s eyes flashed fire. “Do you mean to insinuate that I am not one then, fellow?” he asked in a voice that trembled with passion.
“And suppose I does, what then? feller!” returned the other insolently.
“This!” was the reply, as springing hastily forward, Coverdale struck Styles so violent a blow on the cheek with the back of his open hand, that he staggered and nearly fell;—recovering himself with difficulty, and holding one hand to his injured jaw, he muttered with an oath, “If it wasn’t for the confounded guns, I’d give you the heartiest thrashing ever you had in your life.”
“Or get one yourself,” replied Harry, now thoroughly roused; “but, if you’re at all inclined that way, don’t disturb yourself about the guns; if you will discharge yours, I and my friend will do the same by ours, it’s only wasting a charge or two of powder”—and, as he spoke, he fired both barrels in the air. Styles paused a moment, to assure himself that no stratagem was contemplated, and then discharged his gun also, while Hazlehurst having glanced at his friend with an expression of the deepest astonishment, hastened to follow their example. At this moment the clatter of a horse’s hoofs was heard, and Markum, the keeper, cantered up on the shooting pony. “Ah! that’s right!” exclaimed Coverdale, who appeared suddenly to have regained his good temper—“tie the pony up to a tree and come here. Hazlehurst, you will pick me up if I require it, and Markum will do the same kind office by Mr. Styles, and I don’t intend him to have a sinecure either,” he added, sotto voce.
“You don’t mean seriously you’re going to fight the fellow:” inquired Hazlehurst.
“Indeed, I do, and, what’s more, nobody shall prevent me, unless he shows the white feather,” was the positive answer.
“But—but you’ll get knocked about so: besides, the brute’s a bigger, heavier man than you, and as strong as an elephant. Suppose he should injure you,” remonstrated Hazlehurst.
“He may if he can,” was the confident reply; “why Arthur, you’re as nervous as a girl; this is not the first time you’ve seen me use my fists, and I’ve taken lessons from Ben Caunt since the old Eton days.”
“Go in and win, then, if you will make a fool of yourself,” rejoined Hazlehurst moodily, as he helped his friend to divest himself of his shooting-jacket and waistcoat.
“Now, Mr. Styles, I’m at your service,” remarked Coverdale, addressing his antagonist politely.