“But Austria would be about her ears in a minute!”
“Maybe. Have you seen this Colonel Beauvais of the royal cuirassiers, the actual head of the army here?”
“A fine soldier,” said the Englishman, heartily. “Rides like a centaur and wields a saber as if it were a piece of straw.”
“I can hold a pretty good blade myself; I've an idea that I can lick him at both games.”
Fitzgerald laughed good-naturedly. “There is the one flaw in your make-up. I admit your horsemanship; but the saber! Believe me, it is only the constant practice and a wrist of iron which make the saber formidable. You are more familiar with the pen; I dare say you could best him at that.”
“What makes you think I can not lick him?”
“Since when have the saber and the civilian been on terms? And these continental sabers are matchless, the finest in the world. I trust you will steer clear of the Colonel; if you have any challenge in mind, spring it on me, and I'll let you down easy.” Then: “Why the devil do you want to lick him, anyway?”
“I don't know,” said Maurice. “I had a close range to-night, and somehow the man went against the grain. Well, Jack, I'll stay with you in this affair, though, as the county judge at home would say, it's out of my circuit.”
They shook hands across the table.
“Come,” said Fitzgerald; “a toast, for I must be off.”