"Sir," said he gently, "you will perhaps have the extreme
condescension to note that my boots are strong boots, and very
serviceable either for walking, or for kicking an insolent puppy."
"If I had a whip, now," sighed the gentleman, "if I only had a whip,
I'd whip you out of the room. Chichester,--pray look at that coat, oh,
Gad!"
But Mr. Chichester had risen, and now crossing to the door, he
locked it, and dropped the key into his pocket.
"As you say, the light is excellent, my dear Dalton," said he,
fixing Barnabas with his unwavering stare.
"But my dear Chit, you never mean to fight the fellow--a--a being
who wears such a coat! such boots! My dear fellow, be reasonable!
Observe that hat! Good Gad! Take your cane and whip him
out--positively you cannot fight this bumpkin."
"None the less I mean to shoot him--like a cur, Dalton." And Mr.
Chichester drew a pistol from his pocket, and fell to examining
flint and priming with a practised eye. "I should have preferred my
regular tools; but I dare say this will do the business well enough;
pray, snuff the candles."
Now, as Barnabas listened to the soft, deliberate words, as he noted
Mr.
Pages:
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214