“Very well,” said Dick, “it only remains to assure you that the loser will be decently interred.”
Here both he and Tonks were obviously affected by a very natural emotion; with a distinct effort he cleared his throat and resumed:
“And to tell you the conditions of the combat. Here are the weapons.”
Conceive our astonishment when we were each solemnly handed a double-barrelled shot-gun and a bagful of No. 5 cartridges! Even Lumme recognized the unsuitability of these firearms.
“I say, hang it!” he exclaimed; “I'm not going to fight with these!”
“Tonks, I protest!” I said, warmly. “This is absurd.”
“Only things you're going to get,” replied Tonks, stolidly.
“Gentlemen,” said Shafthead, with more courtesy, “you have agreed to fight in any method we decide. If you back out now we can only suppose that you are afraid of getting hurt—and in that case why do you fight at all?”
“All right, then,” replied Lumme, with an élan I must give him every credit for; “I'm game.”
“And I am in your hands,” said I, with a shrug that was intended to protest, not against the danger, but the absurdity of the weapons. “At what distance do we stand?”