"Me boy," said he, in a tender and paternal voice, "it's now toime for me to speak to ye about the ayvint of which I was a casual oi-witniss. I refer to your addhrissis to me woife. Don't intherrupt me. I comprayhind the whole matter. The leedies are all fond of ye. So they are of me. Ye're a devvil of a fellow with them—an' so am I. We comprayhind one another. You see we must have a mayting."
"A meeting!"
"Yis—of coorse. A jool. There's nothing else to be done."
"You understand," said I, "of course, the nature of my awkward mistake, and the cause of it."
"Don't mintion it. Me ondherstand? Of coorse. Am I an owl? Be dad, I nivir laughed so much these tin years. Ondherstand! Every bit of it. But we won't have any expleeneetions about that. What concerns us is the code of honor, and the jewty of gintlemin. A rigid sinse of honor, and a shuprame reygard for the sancteties of loife, requoire that any voioleetion, howivir onintintional, be submitted and subjicted to the only tribunal of chivalry—the eencient and maydoayval orjil of the jool."
I confess I was affected, and deeply, by the lofty attitude which O'Halloran assumed. He hadn't the slightest hard feeling toward me. He wasn't in the smallest degree jealous. He was simply a calm adherent to a lofty and chivalrous code. His honor had been touched ignorantly, no doubt—yet still it had been touched, and he saw no other course to follow than the one laid down by chivalry.
"My friend," said I, enthusiastically, "I appreciate your delicacy, and your lofty sentiment. This is true chivalry. You surpass yourself. You are sublime!"
"I know I am," said O'Halloran, naïvely.
A tear trembled in his eye. He did net seek to conceal his generous emotion. That tear rolled over and dropped into his tumbler, and hallowed the draught therein.
"So then," said I, "we are to have a meeting—but where, and when?"