One man said--"Well, have you got a sword? Do you know what a sword is? Have you got a sword?" "No, I ain't got none," said Patsy honestly, "but I kin git one." Then he added valiantly--"An' quick, too." The two men laughed. "Why, can't you understand it would be sure death to fight a sword duel with this fellow?" "Dat's all right! See? I know me own business. If he wants t' fight one of dees d--n duels, I'm in it, understan'" "Have you ever fought one, you fool?" "No, I ain't. But I will fight one, dough! I ain't no muff. If he wants t' fight a duel, by Gawd, I'm wid 'im! D'yeh understan' dat!" Patsy cocked his hat and swaggered. He was getting very serious. The little Cuban burst out--"Ah, come on, sirs: come on! We can take cab. Ah, you big cow, I will stick you, I will stick you. Ah, you will look very beautiful, very beautiful. Ah, come on, sirs. We will stop at hotel--my hotel. I there have weapons." "Yeh will, will yeh? Yeh bloomin' little black Dago!" cried Patsy in hoarse and maddened reply to the personal part of the Cuban's speech. He stepped forward. "Git yer d--n swords," he commanded. "Git yer swords. Git 'em quick! I'll fight wi' che! I'll fight wid anyt'ing, too! See? I'll fight yeh wid a knife an' fork if yeh say so! I'll fight yer standin' up er sittin' down!" Patsy delivered this intense oration with sweeping, intensely emphatic gestures, his hands stretched out eloquently, his jaw thrust forward, his eyes glaring. "Ah!" cried the little Cuban joyously. "Ah, you are in very pretty temper. Ah, how I will cut your heart in two piece, my dear, d-e-a-r friend." His eyes, too, shone like carbuncles, with a swift, changing glitter, always fastened upon Patsy's face. The two peacemakers were perspiring and in despair. One of them blurted out-- "Well, I'll be blamed if this ain't the most ridiculous thing I ever saw." The other said--"For ten dollars I'd be tempted to let these two infernal blockheads have their duel." Patsy was strutting to and fro, and conferring grandly with his friends. "He took me for a muff. He t'ought he was goin' t' bluff me out, talkin' 'bout swords. He'll get fooled." He addressed the Cuban--"You're a fine little dirty picter of a scrapper, ain't che? I'll chew yez up, dat's what I will!" There began then some rapid action. The patience of well-dressed men is not an eternal thing. It began to look as if it would at last be a fight with six corners to it. The faces of the men were shining red with anger. They jostled each other defiantly, and almost every one blazed out at three or four of the others. The bartender had given up protesting. He swore for a time and banged his glasses. Then he jumped the bar and ran out of the saloon, cursing sullenly. When he came back with a policeman, Patsy and the Cuban were preparing to depart together. Patsy was delivering his last oration--