Provoking a Duel.
We were scarcely outside before we saw him for whom we were searching. He was standing at a short distance from the porch, conversing with a group of officers, among whom was the dandy already alluded to, and who passed under the appropriate appellation of “Beau Scott.” The latter was aide-de-camp to the commander-in-chief, of whom he was also a relative.
I pointed Ringgold out to my companion.
“He in the civilian dress,” I said.
“Och! man, ye needn’t be so purticular in your idintification. That sarpint-look spakes for itself. Be my sowl! it’s an unwholesome look altogither. That fellow needn’t fear wather—the say’ll niver drown him. Now, look here, Geordy, boy,” continued Gallagher, facing towards me and speaking in a more earnest tone: “Follow my advice to the letther! First trid upon his toes, an’ see how he takes it. The fellow’s got corns; don’t ye see, he wears a tight boot? Give him a good scrouge; make him sing out. Ov course, he’ll ask you to apologise—he must—you won’t. Shurely that’ll do the bizness without farther ceremony? If it don’t, then, by Jabus! hit him a kick in the latter end.”
“No, Gallagher,” said I, disliking the programme, “it will never do.”
“Bad luck to it, an’ why not? You’re not going to back out, are ye? Think man! a villain who would murdher you! an’ maybe will some day, if you let him escape.”
“True—but—”
“Bah! no buts. Move up, an’ let’s see what they’re talking about, anyhow. I’ll find ye a chance, or my name’s not Gallagher.”
Undetermined how to act, I walked after my companion, and joined the group of officers.