“I’ve made lots of mistakes in my life—many of them.
But I’ve been one of the most prominent—in some ways—”
He gave this up and puffed at a dead cigarette.
“I do like you,” said Rosemary, “but I don’t think you ought to fight a duel.”
“Yeah, I should have tried to beat him up, but it’s done now.
I’ve let myself be drawn into something that I had no right to be.
I have a very violent temper—” He looked closely at Abe as if he expected the statement to be challenged.
Then with an aghast laugh he raised the cold cigarette butt toward his mouth.
His breathing quickened.
“The trouble was I suggested the duel—if Violet had only kept her mouth shut I could have fixed it.
Of course even now I can just leave, or sit back and laugh at the whole thing—but I don’t think Violet would ever respect me again.”
“Yes, she would,” said Rosemary.
“She’d respect you more.”
“No—you don’t know Violet.
She’s very hard when she gets an advantage over you.
We’ve been married twelve years, we had a little girl seven years old and she died and after that you know how it is.
We both played around on the side a little, nothing serious but drifting apart—she called me a coward out there tonight.”
Troubled, Rosemary didn’t answer.
“Well, we’ll see there’s as little damage done as possible,” said Abe. He opened the leather case.
“These are Barban’s duelling pistols—I borrowed them so you could get familiar with them.
He carries them in his suitcase.”
He weighed one of the archaic weapons in his hand.
Rosemary gave an exclamation of uneasiness and McKisco looked at the pistols anxiously.
“Well—it isn’t as if we were going to stand up and pot each other with forty-fives,” he said.
“I don’t know,” said Abe cruelly; “the idea is you can sight better along a long barrel.”
“How about distance?” asked McKisco.
“I’ve inquired about that.
If one or the other parties has to be definitely eliminated they make it eight paces, if they’re just good and sore it’s twenty paces, and if it’s only to vindicate their honor it’s forty paces.
His second agreed with me to make it forty.”
“That’s good.”
“There’s a wonderful duel in a novel of Pushkin’s,” recollected Abe.
“Each man stood on the edge of a precipice, so if he was hit at all he was done for.”
This seemed very remote and academic to McKisco, who stared at him and said,
“What?”
“Do you want to take a quick dip and freshen up?”
“No—no, I couldn t swim.”
He sighed.
“I don’t see what it’s all about,” he said helplessly.
“I don’t see why I’m doing it.”
It was the first thing he had ever done in his life.
Actually he was one of those for whom the sensual world does not exist, and faced with a concrete fact he brought to it a vast surprise.
“We might as well be going,” said Abe, seeing him fail a little.
“All right.”
He drank off a stiff drink of brandy, put the flask in his pocket, and said with almost a savage air:
“What’ll happen if I kill him—will they throw me in jail?”
“I’ll run you over the Italian border.”
He glanced at Rosemary—and then said apologetically to Abe:
“Before we start there’s one thing I’d like to see you about alone.”
“I hope neither of you gets hurt,” Rosemary said.
“I think it’s very foolish and you ought to try to stop it.”