"Fire-arms or small swords!" exclaimed Wiggins,—"no, sir, he did not."
"What weapon did he then select? I am at a loss to imagine."
Wiggins hesitated and was silent. His features became strangely and alarmingly distorted.
"Did you not agree upon the weapons? What did Mr. Belton propose?"
"Broad-axes!" said Wiggins.
"What did you say, Mr. Wiggins? I did not distinctly hear you."
"Broad-axes! Mr. Botts, I say broad-axes!"
"What?" exclaimed Mr. Botts, rising from his seat.
"Broad-axes!" said Wiggins, also rising and moving nearer to Botts. "Broad-axes, I say broad-axes!"
Botts's ugly countenance now assumed a very peculiar expression. One of those ideas which suddenly rush into a man's mind and master it in a moment presented itself, and immediately became dominant. He supposed that Wiggins had become demented, and that he was in the presence of a maniac. Botts had as much of the common quality of physical courage as most of the male gender, but, like many a brave man, he had an intense horror of crazy people. He retreated. Wiggins advanced towards him, anxious to explain, and lifting his hand in the act of gesticulation.