like you, but, as Rivoli knows, I am a First Class shot. I shall say I have been brooding over his breaking my back, and now want to fight him on even terms."
A look of pain crossed the face of the old soldier.
"Rupert," he said, rising and laying his hand on his friend's shoulder, "you'll do nothing of the kind.… Not, that is, if you value my friendship in the least, or have the slightest regard for me. Do you not understand that I have given Carmelita my word that I will neither fight Rivoli with a weapon in my hand, nor attack him with one? Would she not instantly and naturally suppose that I had got you to do it for me? … Would anything persuade her to the contrary?"
"Is he to go unpunished then? Is he to ride roughshod over us all? He'll be ten times worse than before. You know he'll ascribe your withdrawal to cowardice—and so will everybody else," was the reply.
"They will," agreed John Bull.
"What's to be done then?"
"I don't know, but I'll tell you what is not to be done. No friend of mine is to challenge Rivoli to a duel."
The Bucking Bronco entered.
"Say, John," he drawled, "I jest bin and beat up Mister Mounseer Malvin, I hev'. 'Yure flappin' yure mouth tew much,' I ses. 'Vous frappez votre bouche trop,' I ses. 'Yew come off it, me lad,' I ses. 'Yew jes' wipe off yure chin some. Effacez votre menton,' I ses. Then I slugs him a little one."
"What was it all about, Buck?" enquired Rupert.
"Do yew know what the little greasy tin-horn of a hobo was waggin' his chin about? Sed as haow
