“What, sir, do you mean to say that you have not just fought a duel with Mr. Long on behalf of your brother?”
“Yes, sir, I have no hesitation in affirming that I have fought no duel with Mr. Long or with any one else, either on behalf of my brother or any one else.”
“Heavens! you surprise me, sir. Why, all Bath is talking——”
“Talking nonsense—that is the mother tongue of Bath; and so far as I can gather, you do not stand in need of a course of lessons in this particular language, Mr. Vere, and so I wish you good-morning, sir.”
Mr. Vere’s jaw fell. His usual alertness of manner disappeared before Dick’s energetic rebuff. He did not even retain sufficient presence of mind to take off his hat when Dick made such a salutation, and walked quietly on.
But when Dick had gone something less than twenty yards on his way, a sudden thought seemed to strike young Vere. Hurrying after him, he cried:
“Look here, Mr. Sheridan, if you did not fight Mr. Long, how does his arm come to be wounded,—tell me that?”
“Mr. Vere,” said Dick, stopping and turning to the other,—“Mr. Vere, unless your story of Mr. Long’s having sustained a wound be much more accurate than much of what you have just been telling me, it stands in great need of verification.”
He walked on, leaving the young man to recover as best he could from his astonishment.
But Dick had scarcely resumed his walk before he encountered his friend Nat Halhed, who almost threw himself into Dick’s arms, so great was his emotion at that moment.