breakfast that could be set upon the table. Thus, the proposed duel ended in a satisfactory and sensible way; and the two letters from the non-duellists formed a very fruitful theme for jokes at their expense, not only at that immediate time, but for many terms after.
Yet, when it was explained to them that they would have been made the victims of a hoax, and that, if they had met, their pistols would only have been loaded with paper pellets, Mr. Bulpit and Mr. Smirke were half inclined to regret that the programme of the duel had not been fully carried out, and that the Port Meadow had not been made the scene of their display of fictitious bravery. But, "all 's well that ends well," and they joined in the laugh raised against them, and cheerfully shared the bill for the breakfast at the Mitre.
Of course, little Mr. Bouncer was there, though not for long; "for," said he, "I promised to look in at Fosbrooke's, and see him and Verdant Green off by the Brummagem coach; and, instead of feeling up to two breakfasts, I can't do justice to one. I must restrict myself to devil and Soda and B."
Either the soda and brandy, or the devilled turkey, prepared by the Mitre's chef in his best style, or the fresh morning air, gave little Mr. Bouncer an appetite; for, when he had left Messrs. Bulpit and Smirke, and had gone back to Brazenface, and had sat down at Fosbrooke's breakfast-table, he was able to take his due share of the good things placed before him. But, if he needed an excuse, he could plead that it was the last morning of Term, and that more than three months would pass before he would eat another breakfast in Oxford.
