When the repast was finished, and the customary demi-tasses of black Mocha, with the small glasses of liqueur beside, were laid upon the table, O'Hara gravely stood up in his place at the head, which had been tacitly conceded to him, and demanded the word—the French parliamentary equivalent for asking permission to make a speech.
The permission was cordially granted by word of mouth from those whose mouths were empty, by token of assent from those who were still cracking nuts or coaxing tobacco into vaporous circulation.
'Messieurs,' he began, 'having satisfied honour and our appetites, I claim a few words on behalf of common-sense and conservatism. Firstly, I am a Conservative—that is to say, I am tenacious of traditions among other things; and it is a tradition of my country never to loose a chance of making a speech. Several of my relatives carried the habit to such an extent that they made public discourses on their dying day—discourses which were discourteously interrupted by vile public functionaries. (Emotion.) Messieurs, you who are not vile, and who are not public functionaries, and, indeed, who are never likely to be public functionaries—you, I trust, will not interrupt me. (Cries of 'No, no.') I was sure of it. You yourselves are disciples of this great art of oratory. You cultivate it at the risk of coryza over the newly-filled graves of dead friends. (Here Blue Spectacles and Pale Face winced.) Much as I admire eloquence, I am sincerely glad that there was no occasion for rhetorical display of that kind this morning, and this it is which brings me to the common-sense side of my subject. Messieurs, in the light of pure common-sense, I have a proposition to lay before you. It is this:—We are all asses. (Astonishment and attention.) Asses, if not worse, I repeat. If either of the principals in this morning's work were to have killed the other, he would be now a homicidal ass, and that other would be that very rare animal—a dead ass. (Sensation.) As I should be one of the accessories, I refrain from dwelling on what their position would be. Messieurs, the duello is a folly—nay, more, it is a crime. What does it prove? Not that the survivor is truer or better than the slaughtered, but that he is luckier, or more skilful, or has less command of the nerves that are in him, not of himself so much as of nature. Both of you, gentlemen (addressing the Gascon and O'Hoolohan), have good command of nerves. Let me hope in the future you will have better command of temper. To resume my thesis, the merits of a quarrel are not affected by the issue. They remain as they were before. Dismissing the artificial accretions to the quarrel we so pleasantly settled an hour ago, to what does it reduce itself? Two grown men, with friends, with duties in life, with ambitions and affections, deliberately seek to slay each other for the sake of the shin-bone of a woman that neither would have dared to introduce to his mother. (Sensation.) Both knew her equally well, perhaps; both liked her, admired her beauty, pitied her misfortunes; but could either respect her character? No! I will answer for all, no. Messieurs, I perceive you agree with me; and as I understand from my friend in the blue spectacles that he has the bone of contention in his possession, may I crave it from him, and do with it as I like?'
The Gascon said he might.
The O'Hoolohan cried 'All right!'
Blue Spectacles handed him the paper-knife.
'Then, messieurs,' exclaimed O'Hara, opening the window, 'away with it. Thus out of sight with aught that might cause malice between honest men.' And he flung it spinning through the air, amid shouts of 'Bravo! Good, good!' from all except O'Hoolohan, whose face was twisted into a queer look of deprecation.
But it had not gone out of sight. Pat the dog was watching it, and, as it fell, sprang through the open casement and bounded after it in the grass. O'Hara was about to whistle him back, but he sniffed a moment at the spot where the blade had dropped, and then turned and trotted back with an air of pitiful contempt.
'That is singular!' soliloquized O'Hara aloud. 'I never knew a dog to refuse a bone before.'
He tapped on the table with a knife-handle, and on the waiter answering to the call he requested him to fetch the paper-knife he would find in the grass outside.