"Sirs," said he, uncertainly, and speaking with an effort, "I have never used a pistol in my life."
"One could tell as much from his boots," murmured Mr. Dalton, snuffing the candles.
"You have another pistol, I think, Dalton; pray lend it to him. We will take opposite corners of the room, and fire when you give the word."
"All quite useless, Chit; this fellow won't fight."
"No," said Barnabas, thrusting his trembling hands into his pockets, "not—in a corner."
Mr. Chichester shrugged his shoulders, sat down, and leaning back in his chair stared up at pale-faced Barnabas, tapping the table-edge softly with the barrel of his weapon.
"Not in a corner—I told you so, Chit. Oh, take your cane and whip him out!"
"I mean," said Barnabas, very conscious of the betraying quaver in his voice, "I mean that, as I'm—unused to—shooting, the corner would be—too far."
"Too far? Oh, Gad!" exclaimed Mr. Dalton. "What's this?"
"As for pistols, I have one here," continued Barnabas, "and if we must shoot, we'll do it here—across the table."