Mr. Christian at once snatched and flourished his weapon, and the two half-tipsy men began to make passes at each other. 'Bright eyes looking on! A fair maid's favour as the prize! Ah, Christian, you're off your guard; you are using your foil wildly. The man is drunk! Heigh! To the heart! I have run you through! Down with your blade, sir!' Wilkins shouted as he charged home, and drove the toasting-fork up into the handle against the breast of his adversary. 'Abbott! gallop off for Sir Bates! Make him come to shrive Christian. Rest his soul! he was a jolly dog, but too fond of lasses and the bottle. Admiral, help me; we will compose his epitaph. No, no, Christian, that is a breach of rules. You're dead, man; dead as a stone, with a stroke through your heart. Didn't you feel the toasting-fork tickle your ribs? Stand aside, or lie dead on the hearthrug. You are out of the game now. Come on, Admiral Abbott. It lies between you and me; Christian, you dog, you are dead, and must not interfere. That stroke will let some of the port wine out of your gizzard. Keep in the rear—you are a dead man. If you walk, it is your ghost. It is Abbott's turn with me now.' 'Wilkins, your tongue runs away with you. I'll cut it off and wear it in my hat. I'm your man.' Thereupon Admiral Abbott, armed with his toasting-fork, strutted into the place lately occupied by Christian. 'No,' said he; 'Wilkins, you cheat; you took a scurvy advantage over my dear deceased brother Christian. You shall not play me the same trick. You have the window behind you.' 'I did not consider it. Change sides.' 'No, I will not have the advantage over you either. We will fight with the daylight athwart our blades.' 'Then the Queen of Cheap Jacks must shift quarters, to see that all is fair.' 'Let her shift,' said Abbott. 'I am not going to be killed or to kill you at a disadvantage. Ready!' The passage of arms between Wilkins and Abbott was as brief as that between him and Christian. A stroke from the admiral, who used his tool as a cutlass, bent the soft metal of the toasting-fork of his opponent. 'Weapon broken. Surrender!' shouted Abbott. 'Now, Wilkins, stand aside. I am conqueror, and claim the red rag.' 'That's a way to ask! Like the bear you are, Abbott. Down on one knee—I won't say gracefully, for you can't do that—and ask in courteous tone. Red rag indeed!—a crimson favour.' 'He can't kneel,' said Christian. 'He'd never get up if he were once down.' 'Admiral! I could swear the Cheap Jack Queen has been crying. There are tears on her cheek and a drench of rain in her brown eyes. It is for you, Christian, you lucky dog; you caused them to fall, because I ran you through, and Her Royal Highness weeps for her knight bleeding his life-tide away.' At this moment Drownlands entered the room, and was saluted by the three magistrates.