“I'll fight him in a second,” cried Dickey.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen! Be calm! Let this affair be arranged by your seconds and in the regular manner,” expostulated Ugo. “This is very unusual, and I must beg of you to remember that you are in my rooms.”
“That is the rub, Prince Ravorelli. It has happened in your rooms, and I want to say to you that if evil befalls my friend, I shall hold you to account for it,” said Quentin, turning on him suddenly.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“You know what I mean. I can and am ready to fight my own battles.”
“This outrageous brawl is none of my affair, Mr. Quentin, and I do not like your threat. You and I should do all in our power to prevent it from going farther. Your friend was too free with his words, I am told. If he did not like my entertainment, he should have left the room.”
“Well, I didn't like it, if you want to know,” said Dickey. “And I don't care a continental who heard what I said.”
“Does he still want to fight with his hands?” demanded Kapolski, now cool and ironical. There was an infuriating attempt on his part to speak as if he were addressing a small, pouting child.
“Anything—anything! The only point is, you'll have to fight to-night—right now. I've two or three friends here who'll see that I get fair play.” said Dickey, discretion flying to the wind.
“You shall fight and here!” exclaimed the Russian. “But you shall fight like a gentleman for once in your life. I will not claw and scratch with you, like the women do, but with any weapon you name.”