plantains. The yellow leaves, half dead with drought and blight, hung
ponderous as torn strips of sheet metal in the lifeless air.

Behind this tattered screen, Rudolph studied, for a moment, the lethal
object in his hand. It was very graceful,--the tapering, three-cornered
blade, with shallow grooves in which blood was soon to run, the silver
hilt where his enemy's father had set, in florid letters, the name of
"H.B. St. A. Chantel," and a date. How long ago, he thought, the steel
was forged for this day.

"It is Fate." He looked up sadly. "Come, show me how to begin; so that I
can stand up to him."

"Here, then." Slowly, easily, his long limbs transformed with a sudden
youthful grace, Heywood moved through the seven positions of On
Guard. "Try it."

Rudolph learned only that his own clumsy imitation was hopeless.

"Once more.--He can't see us."

Again and again, more and more rapidly, they performed the motions of
this odd rehearsal. Suddenly Heywood stepped back, and lowering his
point, looked into his pupil's face, long and earnestly.

"For the last time," he said: "won't you let me tell him? This is
extremely silly."

Rudolph hung his head, like a stubborn child.