"And you have touched him?" I repeated,--"touched his private
honor!"

"Yes! But I shall atone for it! I have already arranged with him
that we shall have it out between ourselves alone, in the jungle,
stripped to the buff, with our fists--Queensberry rules! I haven't
fought since I stood up against Spinks Major--you remember old
Spinks, now of the Bombay Offensibles?--at Eton." And the old boy
pluckily bared his skinny arm.

"It may be serious," I said.

"I have thought of that. I have a wife, several children, and an
aged parent in England. If I fall, they must never know. You must
invent a story for them. I have thought of cholera, but that is
played out; you know we have already tried it on The Boy who was
Thrown Away. Invent something quiet, peaceable and respectable--as
far removed from fighting as possible. What do you say to
measles?"

"Not half bad," I returned.

"Measles let it be, then! Say I caught it from Wee Willie Winkie.
You do not think it too incredible?" he added timidly.

"Not more than YOUR story," I said.

He grasped my hand, struggling violently with his emotion. Then he
struggled with me--and I left hurriedly. Poor old boy! The