'Let her shift,' said Abbott. 'I am not going to be killed or to kill you at a disadvantage. Ready!'
The passage of arms between Wilkins and Abbott was as brief as that between him and Christian. A stroke from the admiral, who used his tool as a cutlass, bent the soft metal of the toasting-fork of his opponent.
'Weapon broken. Surrender!' shouted Abbott. 'Now, Wilkins, stand aside. I am conqueror, and claim the red rag.'
'That's a way to ask! Like the bear you are, Abbott. Down on one knee—I won't say gracefully, for you can't do that—and ask in courteous tone. Red rag indeed!—a crimson favour.'
'He can't kneel,' said Christian. 'He'd never get up if he were once down.'
'Admiral! I could swear the Cheap Jack Queen has been crying. There are tears on her cheek and a drench of rain in her brown eyes. It is for you, Christian, you lucky dog; you caused them to fall, because I ran you through, and Her Royal Highness weeps for her knight bleeding his life-tide away.'
At this moment Drownlands entered the room, and was saluted by the three magistrates.
'We have been fighting,' said the admiral, 'and I am the conqueror. If you are disposed to part with the pretty housekeeper, I will carry her off en croupe on my horse.'
Drownlands disdained an answer.
'Gentlemen,' said he, 'now that you are here, let me ask a favour of you. Pray put your hands to this paper and witness my signature to this my last will and testament.'