THE AMERICAN
"This sort of thing may be all very well," he broke out at last, "but I 'll be blamed if I see it. I can't stop you perhaps, but at least I can swear at you handsomely. Take me as doing so in the most awful terms."
"My dear fellow, don't make a scene"—Valentin was almost sententious. "Scenes in these cases are in very bad taste."
"Your duel itself is a scene," Newman said; "a scene of the most flagrant description. It 's a wretched theatrical affair. Why don't you take a band of music with you outright? It's G— d— barbarous, and yet it's G— d— effete."
"Oh, I can't begin at this time of day to defend the theory of duelling," the young man blandly reasoned. "It's our only resource at given moments, and I hold it a good thing. Quite apart from the merit of the cause in which a meeting may take place, it strikes a romantic note that seems to me in this age of vile prose greatly to recommend it. It's a remnant of a higher-tempered time; one ought to cling to it. It's a way of more decently testifying. Testify when you can!"
"I don't know what you mean by a higher-tempered time," Newman retorted. "Because your great grandfather liked to prance, is that any reason for you, who have got beyond it? For my part I think we had better let our temper take care of itself; it generally seems to me quite high enough; I'm not more of a fire-eater than most, but I'm not afraid of being too mild. If your great-grandfather were to make himself unpleasant to me I think I could tackle him yet."
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