"Objected to the weapons! And, pray, what did he name? A blunderbuss?"
"No; nor a duck gun, with trumpet muzzle; but an infernal pen!"
"A what?"
"Why, curse the fellow, a pen! You are to use pens—the place of meeting, the—Gazette—time, to-morrow morning. He is to prove you are no gentleman, and you are to prove you are one, and that a gentleman is at all times privileged to insult whomsoever he pleases without provocation."
"He's a cowardly fool!"
"If his terms are not accepted, he threatens to post you for a coward before night."
"What?"
"You must accept or be posted. Think of that!"
The precise terms in which the principal swore, and the manner in which he fumed for the next five minutes, need not be told. He was called back to more sober feelings by the question—"Do you accept the terms of the meeting?"
"No, of course not; the fellow's a fool."