The news excited all my sympathy.
I threw on my clothes and made my way to the Pillwax coffee-house. I found my good friends already at the "Table of Public Opinion," and every one of them shared my compassion. The critic related the mournful details to us.
All at once two of our comrades, Degré and Lauka, rushed excitedly into the coffee-house. "The whole duel was a swindle!" they cried. "There was no harm done to any one. He was not even wounded. He is lying in bed with his arm tied up, and a bloody shirt; they are giving him ice cataplasms—the whole thing is a pure farce!"
The second, however, solemnly maintained that his principal had been wounded.
"We will convince ourselves of the fact."
"Surely you would not want them to tear the bandages from the gaping wound?" This I also resolutely opposed, and, taking the part of my colleague, devised another expedient.
"Who was the doctor who bound up the wound?"
The critic mentioned the doctor's name.
"We'll go to the doctor, then."
Dr. K——y was a worthy, honest, high-spirited fellow, who well deserved the public respect.