“And I’ll make it again, by your leave, sir. I say that ’tis a nice question if the wounds inflicted upon a gentleman’s honour by the free use of a low postillion’s whip can be cauterised by all great Neptune’s ocean.”
“’Tis a nice question, I doubt not, sir,” said Dick.
“That’s the conclusion my friend the captain and me came to before we had more than talked the business half over, and so we determined that it must be nipped in the bud,” said Major O’Teague, with the fluency of a practised rhetorician.
Meantime Mr. Long had opened the letter. The seal was about the size of a crown piece, and the breaking of it was quite apocalyptic.
“’Tis true, Major O’Teague,” said he mournfully. “Your friend has been pleased to take offence at what was, after all, an unimportant incident.”
“Pray, sir, may I inquire if your notion is that a gentleman should not take offence at anything less than getting his head cut off?” said Major O’Teague with great suavity. “You think that a gentleman shouldn’t send a challenge unless the other gentleman has mortally wounded him?”
“I like to take a charitable view of every matter, sir; and I give you my word that I believed that Mr. Mathews had more discretion than to challenge me to—to—may I say?—to show him my hand,” said Mr. Long.
“To show him your hand, sir? I protest that I don’t understand you at all, Mr. Long,” said Major O’Teague. “This is not a challenge to a friendly game of cards, sir, let me assure you. When you show your hand to my friend, I trust it’s a couple of swords that’ll be in it, or a brace of pistols, which form a very gentlemanly diversion on the green of a morning.”
“Mr. Sheridan, I shall ask you to do me the honour of acting for me in this unfortunate affair,” said Mr. Long.