“Marse Nat, I don’t ripresent nobody, suh, nobody at all, suh. I ain’ nuttin but a good-for-nuttin, wuthless nigger, whar brung de box down heah cuz you tole me to, suh, dat’s all. An’ I’ll teek off you’ coat an’ weskit dis minit ef you’ll jis le’ me git up off de groun’, suh.” Jeff suddenly appeared. George lay spraddled out on the ground as flat as a field lark, but at Jeff’s appearance, he sprang behind him. Jeff, in amazement, was inquiring the meaning of all the noise he had heard, when Lawrence appeared on the scene. The Major explained briefly.
“It was that redoubtable champion bellowing. As our principals failed to appear on time, he being-an upholder of the Code, suggested that we were bound to take the places respectively of those we represented——”
“Nor, suh, I don’ ripresent nobody,” interrupted George Washington; but at a look from the Major he dodged again behind Jeff. The Major, with his eye on Lawrence, said:
“Well, gentlemen, let’s to business. We have but a few minutes of daylight left. I presume you are ready?”
Both gentlemen bowed, and the Major proceeded to explain that he had loaded both pistols himself with precisely similar charges, and that they were identical in trigger, sight, drift, and weight, and had been tested on a number of occasions, when they had proved to be “excellent weapons and remarkably accurate in their fire.” The young men bowed silently; but when he turned suddenly and called “George Washington,” that individual nearly jumped out of his coat. The Major ordered him to measure ten paces, which, after first giving notice that he “didn’t ripre-sent nobody,” he proceeded to do, taking a dozen or more gigantic strides, and hastily retired again behind the safe bulwark of Jeff’s back. As he stood there in his shrunken condition, he about as much resembled the pompous and arrogant duellist of a half-hour previous as a wet and bedraggled turkey does the strutting, gobbling cock of the flock. The Major, with an objurgation at him for stepping “as if he had on seven league boots,” stepped off the distance himself, explaining to Lawrence that ten paces was about the best distance, as it was sufficiently distant to “avoid the unpleasantness of letting a gentleman feel that he was within touching distance,” and yet “near enough to avoid useless mutilation.”
Taking out a coin, he announced that he would toss up for the choice of position, or rather would make a “disinterested person” do so, and, holding out his hand, he called George Washington to toss it up. There was no response until the Major shouted, “George Washington, where are you—you rascal!”
“Heah me, suh,” said George Washington, in a quavering voice, rising from the ground, where he had thrown himself to avoid any stray bullets, and coming slowly forward, with a pitiful, “Please, suh, don’ p’int dat thing dis away.”
The Major gave him the coin, with an order to toss it up, in a tone so sharp that it made him jump; and he began to turn it over nervously in his hand, which was raised a little above his shoulder. In his manipulation it slipped out of his hand and disappeared. George Washington in a dazed way looked in his hand, and then on the ground. “Hi! whar’ hit?” he muttered, getting down on his knees and searching in the grass. “Dis heah place is evil-sperited.”
The Major called to him to hurry up, but he was too intent on solving the problem of the mysterious disappearance of the quarter.
“I ain’ nuver like dis graveyard bein’ right heah,” he murmured. “Marse Nat, don’ you have no mo’ to do wid dis thing.”