“Uncle Billy,” began young Houser, without preamble, “you told me yesterday not to do anything and I've obeyed your orders although I didn't understand what you were driving at, exactly, but now I must do something if I aim to keep my self-respect or to stay in this race—either one, or both. Unless I take up the dare he's laid down in front of me, Montjoy's going to brand me on the stump as a coward. Yes, suh, that's his intention—Oh, it came to me straight. It seems Mrs. Horace K. Maydew told old Mrs. Whitridge this morning in strict confidence and Mrs. Whitridge just took her foot in hand and put out to tell Aunt Puss Lockfoot and Aunt Puss didn't lose any time getting through the alley gate into my back yard to tell my wife.
“Yes, suh, if I keep silent and don't take any notice of his challenge, Montjoy's going to get up before this whole town at a mass meeting and denounce me as a coward,—he's going to say I'm willing enough to take advantage of being younger and stronger than he is to attack him with my bare hands, but that I'm afraid to back up my act where it puts my hide in danger. I know mighty good and well who's behind him, egging him on—I can see her finger in it plain enough. She hopes to see me humiliated and she hopes to see your chances hurt in your next race. She aims to strike at you through me and ruin us both, if she can.
“But, Uncle Billy, all that being so, doesn't alter the situation so far as I'm concerned. The man doesn't live that can stand up and brand me as a sneaking quitting coward and not have to answer for it. One way or another, it will come to a pass where there's bound to be shooting. I've just got to do something and do it quick.”
“Well, son,” said Judge Priest, still flat on his back, “I sort of figgered it out that things might be takin' some sech a turn as this. I've heard a few of the rumours that're be-ginin' to creep round, myse'f. I reckin, after all, you will have to answer Mister Montjoy. In fact, I taken the trouble this mornin' to wrop up your answer and have it all ready to be sent over to Mister Montjoy's place of residence by the hands of my boy Jeff.”
“You wrapped it up?” queried Houser, bewildered again.
“That's whut I said—I wropped it up,” answered the judge. He heaved himself upright and crossed the room to his old writing table that stood alongside one of the low front windows and from the desk took up a large squarish object, securely tied up in white paper with an address written upon one of its flat surfaces.
“Jeff!” he called, “oh, you Jeff.”
“Why, Uncle Billy, that looks like a book to me,” said Mr. Houser. Assuredly, this was a most mystified young man.
“It ain't no box of sugar kisses—you kin be shore of that much, anyway,” stated that inscrutable uncle of his. “You're still willin', ain't you, son, to set quiet and be guided by me in this matter?”
“Yes, suh, I am. That is, I'm perfectly willing to take your advice up to a certain point but——”