“A liar and a scounthrel!” repeated the captain, as he advanced in a threatening manner towards the wretched victim of this egregious bullyism.
“Well, my dear sir—if it will satisfy you—and, as your friend observes, on the principle of mutual concessions—I—I——”
“Out with it, man!” roared the captain: “don’t keep us waiting all day—for the hot wather is getting could——”
“You’d better not provoke him any more,” whispered Frank: “or I shall be compelled to run and fetch the pistols—unless you prefer having your brains dashed out with the poker.”
“Oh! murder! ejaculated the miserable Tickner, turning deadly pale at the awful alternative suggested: “give me time to breathe, Captain O’Blunderbuss——”
“Not a moment!” cried the ferocious gentleman thus appealed to: “I must have complate satisfaction before ye brathe another puff!”
“Well, then—I admit that I—I am—what you said,” returned the colonel.
“Repate the words! A liar and a scounthrel!”
“A liar and—and—a scoundrel,” echoed the humbled and trembling wretch, wishing that the floor would open and swallow him up—or that any other equally improbable casualty might occur, so long as it should remove him from the presence of the ferocious Irishman.
“Ye hear his wor-rds, my frinds?” cried the captain: “he declar-rs himself to be a liar and a scounthrel. And now, as a man of honour-r, I confiss myself completely satisfied. The apology is most handsome—and such as reflicts the highest credit on him as a gintleman. Give me your hand, sir-r!”