"He's a Southerner--from Virginia. He's a dangerous chap, Frank--just as
lief eat as fight--I mean fight as eat. He's been in town to-night,
drinking beer with the boys, and he's in a mighty ugly mood. He says you
insulted him."

"Is that so?"

"It's just so, and he's going to dallenge you to a chewel--I mean
challenge you to a duel."

Frank whistled softly, elevating his brows a bit.

"What sort of a duel?" he asked.

"Why, a regular duel with deadly weapons. He's awfully in earnest,
Frank, and he means to kill you if you don't apologize. All the fellows
are backing him; they think you will not fight."

"Is that so? Looking for me to show the white feather, are they? Well, I
like that!"

"But you can't fight him! I tell you he's a fire eater! I've heard that
his father killed a man in a duel."

"And that makes the son dangerous! No, Harry, I can't afford to--What's
all that racket?"

The sound of voices and of many feet ascending the stairs could be
heard. Harry turned pale.