Galloping Dick
the poor huckster I had made myself out, made me the more resolute to show my mettle. I rapped my sword out sharply.
“You are pleased, sir,” said I, fiery-red, “to laugh at me.”
“Why,” says he, with the first twinkle in his eyes that I had seen, “and may not a gentleman hug a jest to himself, but must rather go forth among the dogs for his laughter?”
I was a little staggered at his ready use of my own rebuke, but I was equal to him in a moment.
“True,” I says, “your jest is your own, poor though it be. Laugh an’ you will. But damn me,” says I, “you shall not squint at me.”
At that he turned scarlet himself, and scowling at me, “You're an impudent rogue,” says he.
“Draw,” says I, and made at him.
He whipped out his iron, and was putting it up with a black expression on his phiz, when all of a sudden a noise of voices and stamping in the passage interfered between us. His
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