accepted them in the face of the ruling of the half amused, half cynical
Judge himself. For an hour they had laughed with the Colonel, wept with
him, been stirred to personal indignation or patriotic exaltation by
his passionate and lofty periods,--what else could they do than give him
their verdict? If it was alleged by some that the American eagle, Thomas
Jefferson, and the Resolutions of '98 had nothing whatever to do with
the contest of a ditch company over a doubtfully worded legislative
document; that wholesale abuse of the State Attorney and his political
motives had not the slightest connection with the legal question
raised--it was, nevertheless, generally accepted that the losing party
would have been only too glad to have the Colonel on their side. And
Colonel Starbottle knew this, as, perspiring, florid, and panting, he
rebuttoned the lower buttons of his blue frock-coat, which had become
loosed in an oratorical spasm, and readjusted his old-fashioned,
spotless shirt frill above it as he strutted from the court-room amidst
the handshakings and acclamations of his friends.

And here an unprecedented thing occurred. The Colonel absolutely
declined spirituous refreshment at the neighboring Palmetto Saloon,
and declared his intention of proceeding directly to his office in the
adjoining square. Nevertheless, the Colonel quitted the building alone,
and apparently unarmed, except for his faithful gold-headed stick,
which hung as usual from his forearm. The crowd gazed after him with
undisguised admiration of this new evidence of his pluck. It was
remembered also that a mysterious note had been handed to him at
the conclusion of his speech,--evidently a challenge from the State
Attorney. It was quite plain that the Colonel--a practiced duelist--was
hastening home to answer it.

But herein they were wrong. The note was in a female hand, and simply