"I was remarking that, as her kinsman, I, Don Manuel Pesquiera, stand prepared to make good her words. What the Señorita Valdés says, I say, too."
"Then don't say it aloud, you little monkey, or I'll throw you over the house," Dick promised immediately.
Don Manuel clicked his heels together and twirled his black mustache.
"I offer you, sir, the remedy of a gentleman. You, sir, shall choose the weapons."
The Anglo-Saxon laughed in his face.
"Good. Let it be toasting-forks, at twenty paces."
The challenger drew himself up to his full five feet six.
"You choose to be what you call droll. Sir, I give you the word, poltroon—lâche—coward."
"Oh, go chase yourself."
One of Pesquiera's little gloved hands struck the other's face with a resounding slap. Next instant he was lifted from his feet and tucked under Dick's arm.