One day Ernest and Buttar were fencing together. They had been at first equally matched, but Ernest was never content unless he was perfect in every exercise he took up, and so he had practised and practised, and thought the matter over, till he could beat his friend thoroughly. Buttar took his defeats very good-naturedly.
“I cannot manage as you do, old fellow,” he used to observe. “You always contrive to send my foil flying out of my hand when I fancy that I am going to play you some wonderful trick at which I have been practising away for the whole of the last week.”
A match was just over when Blackall entered the fencing-room. His eye fell on Ernest. Just then something called Buttar out of the room, and Ernest was left without an antagonist.
“Come, young gentleman, you are both good fencers. Try a pass of arms together,” said Mr Strutt, the fencing-master. “Oh, you must not draw back; I shall fancy you are afraid of each other if you do. Come, take your foils and begin.”
Blackall hesitated. He had not exchanged a word with Ernest since the day he had received his flogging, and he hoped never to have to speak to him again.
“Perhaps Blackall would rather not fence with me, sir,” observed Ernest to the fencing-master.
“Oh, nonsense, nonsense. Take up your foil and begin,” was the answer he received.
“I am ready to fence with you. Come here in this corner of the room, out of the way,” said Blackall suddenly.
Ernest followed him. He remarked that there was a peculiarly evil look in his eye. He did not, however, unfortunately, observe what he was about with his foil in the corner.
“Now, young gentlemen, attention,” cried Mr Strutt to some of his pupils, whose exercise he was superintending, and the words Quarte, Tierce, Seconde, Demi-circle, Contre de Quarte, Contre de Tierce, and so on, were heard resounding through the room.