"Yes," answered Barnabas, shaking hands, "he ought to be up and about again in a day or two."
"Excellent," nodded the Marquis, "I'll run over to Half-moon Street this afternoon. Is Bamborough with him still?"
"No, his Lordship left yesterday."
"Ha!" said the Marquis, and taking out his snuff-box, he looked at it, tapped it, and put it away again. "Poor old Sling," said he gently, "I miss him damnably, y'know, Beverley."
"Marquis," said Barnabas, "what is it?"
"Well, I want you to do me a favor, my dear fellow, and I don't know how to ask you—doocid big favor—ah—I was wondering if you would consent to—act for me?"
"Act for you?" repeated Barnabas, wholly at a loss.
"Yes, in my little affair with Carnaby—poor old Sling, d' you see.
What, don't you twig, Beverley, haven't you heard?"
"No!" answered Barnabas, "you don't mean that you and Carnaby are going—to fight?"
"Exactly, my dear fellow, of course! He fouled poor old Sling at the wall, y'know—you saw it, I saw it, so naturally I mean to call him to account for it. And he can't refuse—I spoke doocid plainly, and White's was full. He has the choice of weapons,—pistols I expect. Personally, I should like it over as soon as possible, and anywhere would do, though Eltham for preference, Beverley. So if you will oblige me—"