"Possibly it was merely a footman, Duke," said Mr. Rodney in a relieved tone of voice. "You ought to be very thankful, I am sure."
"I daresay, a footman; or it may have been only Bliggins. It doesn't matter. What does matter is, that I'm going to have satisfaction. D'you hear, sir?" he shouted in Mr. Bush's ear.
"I ain't deaf," retorted that gentleman.
"I'm going to fight you and kill you in your own garden here."
"Darn it all, I say!" from Mr. Minnidick, who was standing calmly by during this social intercourse.
"Duke, I implore you, be calm!" cried Mr. Rodney, grasping some brambles oratorically. "Kill him quietly; don't make a scene, Duke—for Heaven's sake, don't make a scene!"
"He shall have a chance, Rodney; he shall die in fair fight. Choose your weapons!" he added to the paragon.
"Eh?"
"Choose your weapons! What do you generally fight with here?"
"Hoes," replied Mr. Bush sulkily, while Mr. Minnidick muttered something about "Allers fight with a 'oe and you won't repint of it."