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Elisha Cuthbert Photos Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
a braided surtout--was
sitting with perfect equanimity on a camp-stool.
The other party, and a surgeon, I suppose, said Mr. Snodgrass;
take a drop of brandy. Mr. Winkle seized the wicker
bottle which his friend proffered, and took a lengthened pull at
the exhilarating liquid.
My friend, Sir, Mr. Snodgrass, said Mr. Winkle, as the officer
approached. Doctor Slammers friend bowed, and produced a
case similar to that which Mr. Snodgrass carried.
We have nothing further to say, Sir, I think, he coldly remarked,
as he opened the case; an apology has been resolutely declined.
Nothing, Sir, said Mr. Snodgrass, who began to feel rather
uncomfortable himself.
Will you step forward? said the officer.
Certainly, replied Mr. Snodgrass. The ground was measured,
and preliminaries arranged.
You will find these better than your own, said the opposite
second, producing his pistols. You saw me load them. Do you
object to use them?
Certainly not, replied Mr. Snodgrass. The offer relieved him
from considerable embarrassment, for his previous notions of
loading a pistol were rather vague and undefined.
We may place our men, then, I think, observed the officer,
with as much indifference as if the principals were chess-men, and
the seconds players.
I think we may, replied Mr. Snodgrass; who would have
assented to any proposition, because he knew nothing about the
matter. The officer crossed to Doctor Slammer, and Mr. Snodgrass
went up to Mr. Winkle.
Its all ready, said he, offering the pistol. Give me your cloak.
You have got the packet, my dear fellow, said poor Winkle.
All right, said Mr. Snodgrass. Be steady, and wing him.
It occurred to Mr. Winkle that this advice was very like that
which bystanders invariably give to the smallest boy in a street
fight, namely, Go in, and win--an admirable thing to recommend,
if you only know how to do it. He took off his cloak,
however, in silence--it always took a long time to undo that cloak
--and accepted the pistol. The seconds retired, the gentleman on
the camp-stool did the same, and the belligerents approached
each other.
Mr. Winkle was always remarkable for extreme humanity. It is
conjectured that his unwillingness to hurt a fellow-creature
intentionally was the cause of his shutting his eyes when he
arrived at the fatal spot; and that the circumstance of his eyes
being closed, prevented his observing the very extraordinary and
unaccountable demeanour of Doctor Slammer. That gentleman
started, stared, retreated, rubbed his eyes, stared again, and,
finally, shouted, Stop, stop!
Whats all this? said Doctor Slammer, as his friend and Mr.
Snodgrass came running up; thats not the man.
Not the man! said Doctor Slammers second.
Not the man! said Mr. Snodgrass.
Not the man! said the gentleman with the camp-stool in his hand.
Certainly not, replied the little doctor. Thats not the person
who insulted me last night.
Very extraordinary! exclaimed the officer.
Very, said the gentleman with the camp-stool. The only
question is, whether the gentleman, being on the ground, must
not be considered, as a matter of form, to be the individual who
insulted our friend, Doctor Slammer, yesterday evening, whether
he is really that individual or not; and having delivered this
suggestion, with a very sage and mysterious air, the man with the
camp-stool took a large pinch of snuff, and looked profoundly
round, with the air of an authority in such matters.
Now Mr. Winkle had opened his eyes, and his ears too, when
he heard his adversary call out for a cessation of hostilities; and
perceiving by what he had afterwards said that there was, beyond
all question, some mistake in the matter, he at once foresaw the
increase of reputation he should inevitably acquire by concealing
the real motive of his coming out; he therefore stepped boldly
forward, and said--
I am not the person. I know it.
Then, that, said the man with the camp-stool, is an affront
to Doctor Slammer, and a sufficient reason for proceeding immediately.
Pray be quiet, Payne, said the doctors second. Why did you
not communicate this fact to me this morning, Sir?
To be sure--to be sure, said the man with the camp-stool
indignantly.
I entreat you to be quiet, Payne, said the other. May I repeat
my question, Sir?
Because, Sir, replied Mr. Winkle, who had had time to
deliberate upon his answer, because, Sir, you described an
intoxicated and ungentlemanly person as wearing a coat which I
have the honour, not only to wear but to have invented--the
proposed uniform, Sir, of the Pickwick Club in London. The
honour of that uniform The Pickwick Papers page 13 The Pickwick Papers page 15 |