"Bosh, Loftus! Folks don't fight duels now," was the slighting remark of Onions.
"Not on this side the Channel. No; and that's what the fellow would shelter himself under—a custom obsolete. Gall has insulted me, and if I live I'll make him suffer for it. I should like to put a bullet into him," continued Bertie, grandly.
"It was too bad," said sympathising Onions. "I should pitch into him, Loftus."
Mr. Loftus threw up his head. "Pitching in" was not in his line, or anything so vulgar. "It was a great mistake to allow duelling to go out," he observed, in his lordly manner. "There's no way left now for gentlemen to resent an insult. You can't fight a fellow with your fists, as if you were a prize-fighter; you can't bring an action against him, and let things be blabbed out to the world."
"You can kick him down stairs," said Onions.
Mr. Loftus scorned a refutation. "Just lay hold of this end, will you, while I rub. Mark my words, Onions, before fifty years have gone over our heads, duelling will be in again."
"I say! is this Sir Simon coming up?" cried Leek, hurriedly.
Loftus listened for a moment, and then bundled pistols and leather and oil into the drawer. Sir Simon was passing to his own room, and there was no certainty that he would not look into this. So, for the time being, the polishing and the discussion were alike cut short.
But on the following morning, Onions, whose tongue was as open as his own nature, got talking to the school. And the matter reached the ears of Gall.
"Says he would like to meet me in a duel! says he is a better shot than I! Is he? If I chose to take him at his word and meet him, he'd see who was the best shot."