"Take your own ground, then. Where shall it be? Asia, Africa, America, or New Zealand, if you like it better."
"By no means let us interfere with G. P. R. James. He has taken the convicts under his own especial charge. Let us say America, North or South, and I leave it to you to select the century."
"I won't have any thing to do with Fenimore Cooper's Redskins," said I. "Your gipsy practice would give you a decided advantage in portraying the fiery eyes of a Crow or a Delaware Indian, glaring through a sumach bush. Besides, I hate all that rubbish about wampum and moccassins. But if you like to try your hand at a Patagonian tale, or even a touch at the Snapping Turtle or Cypress Swamp, though that is more in your line, I assure you I have no objection."
"Let me mediate," said the Doctor. "The whole of this discussion seems to have arisen out of to-night's performances at Astley's, and I don't see why you should not avail yourselves of a ready-made hint. There is the Inca and his bride,—a capital suggestive subject. Take that as the groundwork of your tales and pitch them in the days of Pizarro."
"Very well," said I—"only let us start in a mutual state of ignorance. It is many years since I have read a word about the Incas, and I do not mean to refresh my knowledge. What is your amount of preparation, Hidalgo?"
"Precisely the same as yours."
"So far good. But—harkye—who is to decide between us?"
"The public, of course."
"But then, reflect—two tales upon the same subject! Why, nobody will have patience to read them!"