'Gentlemen, it's getting late,' cried O'Hara. 'We had better to business,' and he led the way, thrusting his bicycle by his side, through a gap in the field across to a postern in the wall of a villa garden, which was all he had described it--perfectly secure from the notice of passers-by. The doctor laid his fiddle-case on the grass, opened it, and displayed the shining instruments. The ground was stepped by the young Irishman. Traces were made with chalk at the extremities, twenty paces asunder, and at the further five paces, in front of each adversary's position, beyond which they were not to advance. O'Hara loaded the pistols and gave them to the Gascon's witnesses to examine. This they did in a very perfunctory way. The truth is, both were ignorant of the manner of loading a pistol, and, if they had the task to accomplish themselves, were as likely as not to put in the wad before the powder. The pistols were of the percussion and ramrod type, and the charges of powder and ball were supposed to be put in separately and driven home. 'Take your choice,' said O'Hara to Blue Spectacles. Blue Spectacles took the first to his hand, adding that with such an honourable man there was no room for choice. 'Let your principal take what position he pleases,' said O'Hara, bowing; 'it's immaterial to us.' They got into their places, each in that nearest to where he was standing at the moment. 'Ready?' asked O'Hara. Both nodded acquiescence. 'Who shall drop the handkerchief?' 'Will you oblige?' prayed Blue Spectacles, with a tremor in his voice. 'All right!' The handkerchief was dropped. Almost instantaneously the Gascon fired. The smoke lifted. O'Hoolohan stood erect, unhurt, a placid self-possessed expression on his set features. O'Hoolohan slowly moved five paces, halted; gradually raised his weapon, and deliberately aimed first at the Gascon's heart, then at his brain. It was a cruel experiment, but the Gascon bore it with splendid courage. His complexion paled, it is true, and his mouth was restive, but his gaze was bold and almost disdainful. O'Hoolohan raised the pistol still higher, turned its muzzle perpendicularly, and discharged it into the air, quietly saying, 'You are no coward; I am sorry for the expression!' After such a scene it was impossible to renew the combat. The Gascon, in his turn, retracted the hasty language he had used, and the entire party betook them to the hostelry where breakfast had been ordered by O'Hara's care, all satisfied--except the surgeon, who had theories about gunshot wounds, and was not averse to having practice in their treatment.