to fight. The case was laid before a couple of sergeants, who shook
their heads on hearing his condition to be that of a serving-man, the
Styrian was ready to waive considerations of superiority; but the "judge"
pronounced their veto. A soldier in the Imperial Royal service, though
he was merely a private in the ranks, could not accept a challenge from
civilians below the rank of notary, secretary, hotel- or inn-keeper, and
suchlike: servants and tradesmen he must seek to punish in some other
way; and they also had their appeal to his commanding officer. So went
the decision of the military tribunal: until the Styrian, having
contrived to make Beppo understand, by the agency of a single Italian
verb, that he wanted a blow, Beppo spun about and delivered a stinging
smack on the Styrian's cheek; which altered the view of the case, for,
under peculiar circumstances--supposing that he did not choose to cut him
down--a soldier might condescend to challenge his civilian inferiors:
"in our regiment," said the sergeants, meaning that they had relaxed the
stringency of their laws.

Beppo met his Styrian outside the city walls, and laid him flat. He
declined to fight a second; but it was represented to him, by the aid of
an interpreter, that the officers of the garrison were subjected to
successive challenges, and that the first trial of his skill might have
been nothing finer than luck; and besides, his adversary had a right to
call a champion. "We all do it," the soldiers assured him. "Now your
blood's up you're ready for a dozen of us;" which was less true of a
constitution that was quicker in expending its heat. He stood out
against a young fellow almost as limber as himself, much taller, and
longer in the reach, by whom he was quickly disabled with cuts on thigh
and head. Seeing this easy victory over him, the soldiers, previously
quite civil, cursed him for having got the better of their fallen
comrade, and went off discussing how be had done the trick, leaving him