The Colonel whirled about at the doorway.
"Not a word out of you, sir!" he said tartly. "Not a word!"
He left the room and almost instantly was back bearing a pair of ominous bone-handled dueling pistols. These he cocked carefully and aimed in Marc's general direction.
"Make your peace, sir," he said. He turned to his wife. "Close your eyes so you won't see this."
"No!" Marc yelled.
"Just a moment, dear," Mrs. Hunter Reynolds interrupted. "I don't like to interfere in the affairs of menfolk, you know that, dear, but don't you think we ought to keep in mind that we still have southern blood in our veins even if we are in the North?"
The Colonel observed his wife scowlingly. "How do you mean?" he asked.
"It isn't southern courtesy to shoot a man when he's a sittin' target."
The Colonel turned it over in his mind. "You're quite right, dear," he said finally. He turned to Marc. "Sir, would you mind movin' about a bit out there so I can shoot you in honor?"