Mr. Fitzjohn, breakfasting in his lodgings in Cork Street next morning, wore an unusually sober expression on his face, and when his man came in to inform him that a gentleman had called he got up from the table with a sigh and a shake of his head.
The gentleman’s card, which Mr. Fitzjohn held between his finger and thumb, told him very little. The name was unknown to him, and the address, which was a street in the labyrinth lying between Northumberland House and St. James’s Square, did not impress him favourably.
Captain Crake was ushered into the room, and Mr. Fitzjohn, with a shrewdness belied by his cherubic countenance, instantly decided that his military rank was self-bestowed. He was displeased. He had been brought up by a careful father with a nice regard for etiquette, and one glance at Captain Crake was sufficient to convince him that he was not one whom any gentleman would desire to have for a second in an affair of honour. The first duty of a second was to seek a reconciliation; it was evident that Captain Crake had no such thought in mind. He came only to arrange a place and a time of meeting, and to choose on behalf of his principal pistols for weapons.
To this Mr. Fitzjohn agreed, but when the Captain, assuming Mr. Farnaby to have been the injured party, stipulated for a range of twenty-five yards he unhesitatingly refused to consent to it. Such a range must be all in favour of the more experienced duellist, and however many wafers Peregrine might be able to culp at Manton’s Gallery, Mr. Fitzjohn felt reasonably certain that he had not before been engaged in an actual duel.
He would not consent, and upon the Captain’s attempting to take a high hand with him, said bluntly that he could by no means agree that Mr. Farnaby was the injured party. Sir Peregrine had indeed struck the blow, but the provocation had been strong.
After some argument the Captain gave way on this point, and a range of twelve yards was agreed to. There could be no further hope of reconciliation. Mr. Fitzjohn, well versed in the Code of Honour, was aware that no apology could be extended or received after a blow, and Captain Crake’s attitude now convinced him that, however much Mr. Farnaby might know himself to have been in the wrong, no dependence could be placed on his tacitly acknowledging it on the ground by deloping, or firing into the air.
When Captain Crake had been shown out of the room Mr. Fitzjohn did not immediately resume his interrupted meal, but stood instead staring gloomily into the fire. Though not particularly acquainted with Mr. Farnaby, he knew him a little by repute. The man was a hanger-on to the fringes of society, and was generally to be seen in the company of raw young men of fortune. His reputation was not good. Nothing was precisely known against him, but he had been mixed up in more than one discreditable affair, and was known to be a crack shot. Mr. Fitzjohn did not anticipate a fatal outcome to the following day’s meeting: the consequences would be too serious, he thought; but he was not perfectly at his ease. Farnaby had not been drunk, nor had there been the least sign of foul play in the Cock-Pit. It looked suspiciously as though this quarrel had been thrust on Peregrine. Yet he could find no object in it, and was forced to conclude that he was indulging a mere flight of fancy. As soon as he had finished his breakfast he picked up his hat and gloves and set out to walk the short distance to Brook Street. Arriving at the Taverners’ house he sent in his name and was taken immediately upstairs to Peregrine’s bedroom.
Peregrine was still engaged in the arduous task of dressing, and was anxiously arranging his cravat when Mr. Fitzjohn came in. He said cheerfully: “Sit down, Fitz, and don’t move, don’t speak till I’ve done with this neck-cloth!”
Mr. Fitzjohn obeyed, choosing a chair from which he could observe his friend’s struggles. Having guessed that the next morning’s meeting would be Peregrine’s first, he was very well satisfied with his careless unconcern. It was evident that he would have nothing to blush for in his principal; the lad was game as a pebble. He was not to know with what desperate courage Peregrine had forced himself to utter his cheerful greeting, nor how many sleepless hours he had spent during the night.
The cravat being at last adjusted Peregrine dismissed his valet, and turned. “Well, have you arranged it all, Fitz?” he asked.