“Do sit down, you fellows!—and don’t bother!” said Radowitz, as soon as he could speak. “I gave it to you both as hard as I could in my speech. And you hit back. We’re quits. Shake hands.”
And he held out his left hand, which each of them gingerly shook. Then they both sat down, extremely embarrassed, and not knowing what to say or do next, except that Meyrick again enquired as to Fanning’s opinion.
“Let’s have some swell down,” said Meyrick urgently. “We could get him in a jiffy.”
But Radowitz impatiently dismissed the subject. Sorell, he said, had gone to see Fanning, and it would be all right. At the same time it was evident through the disjointed conversation which followed that he was suffering great pain. He was alternately flushed and deadly pale, and could not occasionally restrain a groan which scared his two companions. At last they got up to go, to the relief of all three.
Meyrick said awkwardly:
“Falloden’s awfully sorry too. He would have come with us—but he thought perhaps you wouldn’t want him.”
“No, I don’t want him!” said Radowitz vehemently. “That’s another business altogether.”
Meyrick hummed and hawed, fidgeting from one foot to the other.
“It was I started the beastly thing,” he said at last. “It wasn’t Falloden at all.”
“He could have stopped it,” said Radowitz shortly. “And you can’t deny he led it. There’s a long score between him and me. Well, never mind, I shan’t say anything. And nobody else need. Good-bye.”