“SIR—Colonel Newcome this morning showed me a letter bearing your signature, in which you state—1. That Colonel Newcome has uttered calumnious and insolent charges against you. 2. That Colonel Newcome so spoke, knowing that you could take no notice of his charges of falsehood and treachery, on account of the relationship subsisting between you.
“Your statements would evidently imply that Colonel Newcome has been guilty of ungentlemanlike conduct, and of cowardice towards you.
“As there can be no reason why we should not meet in any manner that you desire, I here beg leave to state, on my own part, that I fully coincide with Colonel Newcome in his opinion that you have been guilty of falsehood and treachery, and that the charge of cowardice which you dare to make against a gentleman of his tried honour and courage, is another wilful and cowardly falsehood on your part.
“And I hope you will refer the bearer of this note, my friend, Mr. George Warrington, of the Upper Temple, to the military gentleman whom you consulted in respect to the just charges of Colonel Newcome. Waiting a prompt reply,
“Believe me, sir—Your obedient servant,
Clive Newcome.
“Sir Barnes Newcome Newcome, Bart., M. P., etc.”
“What a blunderhead I am!” cries the Colonel, with delight on his countenance, spite of his professed repentance. “It never once entered my head that the youngster would take any part in the affair. I showed him his cousin’s letter casually, just to amuse him, I think, for he has been deuced low lately, about—about a young man’s scrape that he has got into. And he must have gone off and despatched his challenge straightway. I recollect he appeared uncommonly brisk at breakfast the next morning. And so you say, General, the Baronet did not like the poulet?”
“By no means; never saw a fellow show such a confounded white feather. At first I congratulated him, thinking your boy’s offer must please him, as it would have pleased any fellow in our time to have a shot. Dammy! but I was mistaken in my man. He entered into some confounded long-winded story about a marriage you wanted to make with that infernal pretty sister of his, who is going to marry young Farintosh, and how you were in a rage because the scheme fell to the ground, and how a family duel might occasion unpleasantries to Miss Newcome; though I showed him how this could be most easily avoided, and that the lady’s name need never appear in the transaction. ‘Confound it, Sir Barnes,’ says I, ‘I recollect this boy, when he was a youngster throwing a glass of wine in your face! We’ll put it upon that, and say it’s an old feud between you.’ He turned quite pale, and he said your fellow had apologised for the glass of wine.”
“Yes,” said the Colonel, sadly, “my boy apologised for the glass of wine. It is curious how we have disliked that Barnes ever since we set eyes on him.”
“Well, Newcome,” Sir George resumed, as his mettled charger suddenly jumped and curvetted, displaying the padded warrior’s cavalry-seat to perfection. “Quiet, old lady!—easy, my dear! Well, when I found the little beggar turning tail in this way I said to him, ‘Dash me, sir, if you don’t want me, why the dash do you send for me, dash me? Yesterday you talked as if you would bite the Colonel’s head off, and to-day, when his son offers you every accommodation, by dash, sir, you’re afraid to meet him. It’s my belief you had better send for a policeman. A 22 is your man, Sir Barnes Newcome.’ And with that I turned on my heel and left him. And the fellow went off to Newcome that very night.”