It was done with the easiest nonchalance, yet Wilde Payne felt he was bitted and spurred, and the butt of this ridiculous duel might prove to be the man who had brought it about.
"I don't know where he picked up Deane Lee," said he after his rival left; "but Deane will fight his man. It isn't going to be such a soft thing, after all."
"He is only a street-car conductor," said a callow Brown, who looked on, and thought all this very heroic and fine.
"I don't care," said the major, rising on his crutch, "but if that man drives a mule, it is a credit, sir—to the mule; and, gentlemen, I wish you well out of it—I do, by George!" and he stumped off and out of the room. The major's departure was as significant as the sinking of the mercury in the sealed tube: it indicated a stormy atmosphere outside, setting in favor of the other side.
But an incident just then, seeming to confirm some of Mason's vaporing, created a profound sensation, and so complicated and embarrassed the duel for that gentleman as to tax all his ingenuity and address to come out of it with anything like credit. It adds a lustre to his boast that he was "betting on a certainty" and "intended to put the saddle on the right horse." A servant presented a card on a tray, with "Lady in ladies' parlor C wishes to see Captain Mason."
Mason took it up, looked flushed, flattered, more pompous than ever. "Here, Payne," said he; and the two whispered.
"You'd better not," said Payne critically: "it will compromise you."
"But she knows I am here—meddlesome servant, etc." In fact, Mason was too flattered by the visit to deny the lady or himself.
"Poor girl!" was whispered about—"desperately attached."—"She needn't be uneasy: it's the other fellow ought to be looked after."
To explain who this mysterious visitor was we must go back a little.