The preliminaries were soon over. Keith found himself facing Jimmy Ware at the distance he had himself chosen. A double line of spectators stood at a respectful space on either side. Major Miles and an acquaintance of Keith's who had volunteered to act for him were posted nearer at hand. Keith had listened attentively to the instructions. The word was to be given—one, two, three. Fire! Between the first and last words the duellists were to discharge the first shot from their weapons. After that they were to fire at will. One shot would have sufficed Jimmy Ware; but Keith, without emotion, filed with a dead indifference to any possible danger and a savage contempt for the whole proceedings, had insisted on the full measure. He was totally unaccustomed to weapons. At the word of command he raised the revolver and fired, carelessly but coolly, and without result. One after the other he discharged the six chambers of his weapon, aiming as well as he knew how. It did not occur to him that Ware was firing at him. After the sixth miss he threw the revolver away in cold disgust.
"This is a farce," said he, "and I'm not going to be fool enough to take part in it any longer."
Jimmy Ware, delighted at finding himself unharmed, and confident now that bluff would go, started to say something lofty and disdainful. Keith whirled back on him.
"If you want 'satisfaction,' as you call it, you'll get it, and you'll get it plenty! I'm sick of being made a fool of. Just open your ugly head to me again, and I'll knock it off your shoulders!" His eye smouldered dangerously, and Jimmy Ware, very uncertain in his mind, took refuge in a haughty look. Keith glared at him moment, then turned to the crowd: "I'll give all of you fair warning," said he. "I'm going to do my legal duty in all things; and I'm not going to fight duels. Anybody who interferes with me is going to get into trouble!"
An uproar ensued. All this was most irregular, unprecedented, a disgrace to a gentlemen's meeting. The major roared like a bull. If a man would not fight, would not defend his actions, how could a gentleman get at him except by street brawling or assassination, and both of these were repugnant to finer feelings. A dozen fire-eaters felt themselves personally insulted. The crowd surrounded Keith, shouting at him, jostling him, threatening. A cool, somewhat amused voice broke in.
"Gentlemen," said Talbot Ward, in so decided a tone that they turned to hear. "I am a neutral non-partisan in this little war, I am for neither party, for neither opinion, in the matter. I, like Mr. Keith, never fight duels. But may I suggest—merely in the interest of fair play—that for the moment you are forgetting yourselves? My opinion coincides with Mr. Keith's that duelling is a foolish sort of game, but it is a game, and recognized; and if you are going to play it, why not stick to its rules? Mr. Keith, and Mr. Ware have exchanged shots. Mr. Ware has therefore had 'satisfaction.' Now Mr. Keith and I going to walk—quietly—to the boat. We do not expect to be molested."
"By God, Tal!" cried Major Miles in astonishment, "ye' don't mean to tell me yo're linin' yourself up on the side of that blackleg!"
"Well," put in a new voice, a very cheerful voice, "I don't pretend to be neutral, and I'd just as lief fight duels as not, and I'm willing to state to you all that though I don't know a damn thing about this case nor its merits, I like this man's style. And I'm ready to state that I'll take his place and fight any—or all of you—right here and now. You, Major?"
All eyes turned to him. He was a dark, eager youth, standing with his slouch hat in his hand, his head thrown back, his mop of shiny black hair tossed from his forehead, his eyes glowing. The major hummed and fussed.
"I have absolutely no quarrel with you, suh!" he said.