Dick turned mournfully to the messenger of war.
"I'm afraid it's off, Mr. Ainsa. My second says he won't play."
"We shall be very glad to furnish you a second, sir."
"All right, and while you're at it furnish a principal, too. I'm an American. I write my address Cripple Creek, Colorado, U.S.A. We don't fight duels in my country any more. They've gone out with buckled shoes and knee-pants, Mr. Ainsa."
"Do I understand that Mr. Gordon declines to meet my friend on the field of honor?"
"That's the size of it."
"I am then instruct' to warn you to go armed, as my friend will punish your insolence at sight informally."
It was just at this moment that Mrs. Corbett, flushed with the vain chase of her fleeing brood of chickens, came perspiring round the house. Her large, round person, not designed by nature for such arduous exercise, showed signs of fatigue.
"I declare, if them chickens ain't got out, and me wanting two for supper," she panted, arms on her ample hips.
"That's too bad. Let me chase them," volunteered Dick.