“Ah hah,” he said; “seems to be regular in every respect, don't it?--polite, too. To the best of my remembrances I never seen one of these challenges before, but I should judge this here one is got up strictly accordin' to the Code. Son, our ancestors certainly were the great hands for goin' accordin' to the codes, weren't they? If it wasn't one Code, it was another, with them old fellers. Quintus Q. Montjoy writes a nice hand, don't he?” With great care, he folded the note along its original crease, handling it as though it had been a fragile document of immense value and meanwhile humming a little tuneless tune abstractedly. Still humming, he put the paper in an ancient letter wallet, wrapped a leather string about the wallet, and returned wallet and string to the breast pocket of his black seersucker coat. “Son,” he said when all this had been accomplished, “I reckin you done the right thing in comin' straight to me. I must compliment you.” “Yes, suh, much obliged,” said young Houser, “but, Uncle Billy, what would you advise my doing now?” He rubbed his forehead in perplexity. “Why, nothin'--nothin' a'tall,” bade his uncle, as though surprised at any suggestion of uncertainty upon the nephew's part. “You ain't got a thing to do, but jest to go on back home and finish up your breakfast. It ain't wise to start the day on an empty stomach, ever. After that, ef I was you, I would put in the remainder of the day remainin' perfectly ca'm and collected and whilst so engaged I wouldn't say nothin' to nobody about havin' received a challenge to fight a duel.” He regripped his mallet. “Son, watch me make this shot.” He stopped and squinted along the imaginary line from his ball to the wicket. “But, Uncle Billy, I----” “Son, please don't interrupt me ag'in. Jimmy Bagby is comin' over this evenin' to play off a tie match with me, and I aim to be in shape fur him when he does come. Now run along on back home like I told you to and keep your mouth shet.” The judge whacked his ball and made an effective shot--or rather an effective miss--and Tobe Houser betook himself away wagging his puzzled head in a vain effort to fathom the enigma of his relative's cryptic behaviour. Approximately thirty-six hours passed without public developments which might be construed as relating to the matter chiefly in hand and then--in the early afternoon--young Houser returned to the house of his uncle, this time, finding its owner stretched out for his after-dinner nap upon an old and squashy leather couch in the big old-timey sitting-room. The judge wasn't quite asleep yet. He roused as his nephew entered.