“When is what for?” asked Mr. Garbetts.
“The meeting, my dear fellow?”
“You don’t mean to say, you mean mortal combat, Captain,” Garbetts said, aghast.
“What the devil else do I mean, Garbetts?—I want to shoot that man that has trajuiced me honor, or meself dthrop a victim on the sod.”
“D—— if I carry challenges,” Mr. Garbetts replied. “I’m a family man, Captain, and will have nothing to do with pistols—take back your letter;” and, to the surprise and indignation of Captain Costigan, his emissary flung the letter down, with its great sprawling superscription and blotched seal.
“Ye don’t mean to say ye saw ’um and didn’t give ’um the letter?” cried out the Captain in a fury.
“I saw him, but I could not have speech with him, Captain,” said Mr. Garbetts.
“And why the devil not?” asked the other.
“There was one there I cared not to meet, nor would you,” the tragedian answered in a sepulchral voice. “The minion Tatham was there, Captain.”
“The cowardly scoundthrel!” roared Costigan. “He’s frightened, and already going to swear the peace against me.”