O'Shea was not so deficient in tact that he could not see his best mode of dealing with the American was to proceed with every courtesy and deference, and so, as he seated himself opposite him, he mentioned the reason of his coming there without anything like temper, and stated that from a slight altercation such a difference arose as required either an explanation or a meeting. “He can't go a-shooting with you, stranger; he 's struck down this morning,” said Quackinboss, gravely, as the other finished. “Do you mean he 's ill?” “I s'pose I do, when I said he was down, sir.” “This is most unfortunate,” broke in O'Shea. “My duties as a public man require my being in England next week. I hoped to have settled this little matter before my departure. I see nothing for it but to beg you will in writing--a few lines will suffice--corroborate the fact of my having presented myself here, according to appointment, and mention the sad circumstances by which our intentions, for I believe I may speak of Mr. Layton's as my own, have been frustrated.” “Well, now, stranger, we are speakin' in confidence here, and I may just as well observe to you that of all the weapons that fit a man's hands, the pen is the one I 'm least ready with. I 'm indifferent good with firearms or a bowie, but a pen, you see, cuts the fingers that hold it just as often as it hurts the enemy, and I don't like it.” “But surely, where the object is merely to testify to a plain matter-of- fact--” “There ain't no such things on the 'arth as plain matters of fact, sir,” broke in Quackinboss, eagerly. “I've come to the middle period of life, and I never met one of 'em!” O'Shea made a slight, very slight movement of impatience at these words; but the other remarked it, and said,-- “We 'll come to that presently, sir. Let us just post up this account of Mr. Layton's, first of all.” “I don't think there is anything further to detain me here,” said O'Shea, rising with an air of stiff politeness. “Won't you take something, sir,--won't you liquor?” asked Quackinboss, calmly. “Excuse me; I never do of a morning.” “I 'm sorry for it. I was a-thinkin', maybe you 'd warm up a bit with a glass of something strong. I was hopin' it's the cold of the day chilled you!” “Do you mean this for insult, sir?” said O'Shea. “I ask you, because, really, your use of the English language is of a kind to warrant the question.” “That 's where I wanted to see you, sir. You 're coming up to a good boilin'-point now, stranger,” said Quackinboss, with a pleased look. “Is he mad, is he deranged?” muttered O'Shea, half aloud. “No, sir. We Western men are little liable to insanity; our lives are too much abroad and open-air lives for that. It's your thoughtful, reflective, deep men, as wears a rut in their mind with thinkin'; them 's the fellows goes mad.” O'Shea's stare of astonishment at this speech scarcely seemed to convey a concurrence in the assertion, and he made a step towards the door.