“You couldn’t meet yourself,” said Bob, “or you would run against one ten times as quarrelsome.”
“If you want to fall out,” said the ensign, “you might do it in a gentlemanly way.”
“If you want me to punch your head, Tom Long, just say so,” cried Bob, hotly.
“I repeat my words,” said Tom Long, with hauteur. “If you wish to quarrel, sir, you might do it in a gentlemanly manner.”
“Gentlemanly be hanged!” cried Bob. “There’s nothing gentlemanly in quarrelling or fighting.”
“And refer the matter to friends,” continued the young military officer.
Bob’s face was red as that of a turkey-cock the moment before, but at these words the anger seemed to pass away like a cloud from before the sun, and he burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
“Oh!” he said, “that’s what you mean is it? Swords, or pistols, and seconds, early in the morning, with a doctor on the ground. Oh, I say, Tom Long, this is too delicious.”
“Sir!” exclaimed Tom Long.
“I say it’s too delicious. Duelling be hanged; it’s fools’ work; and I’m not quite fool enough to let a friend make a hole, or try to make a hole, in my precious carcase.”