Phlnny: "I said you must fight. You have lost your tongue?"
"Yes, I'll fight," gritted Phinny. "Tilton will look after me. I only demand that we fight at once. Here."
"Not here," protested Tilton. "Gentlemen, please be still. I'll look after my friend. I suppose this young cock-a-lorum can scare up a friend."
"Diable m'emporte!" ejaculated Papa Clair, gliding forward. "Come! What do you mean? You try to pick a quarrel with an old man. Yes. I appear for M'sieu Lander. Behold, you speak slurringly of me to him. This is very bad. Come!"
Tilton's liquor-flushed face became pallid. Fragments of strange tales concerning Papa Clair's wild youth flocked through the man's mind—wicked old stories of the Gulf, when men made their own laws, whispers of lonely lagoons that were visited only by piratical craft.
"I meant I reckined it might be difficult for him to reach his friends in time to fight at once. No harm was meant. As you represent him s'pose we talk it over. Mebbe we can fix it up without any fighting."
