The old major looked redder and fiercer than ever. There could be no doubt that he would make any one fight, once he started out to do so, and that he would carry the matter through. He was brave enough. But little Jimmy Ware, who had been doing some thinking, here spoke up. It seemed to him a good chance to get a reputation without any risk. Since James King of William had uncompromisingly refused to fight duels, his example had been followed. A strong party of those having conscientious scruples against the practice had come into being. Keith's refusal to fight Bennett, to Ware's mind, indicated that he belonged to this class. It looked safe. "Pardon me, Major," he broke in suavely; "but each in turn. I claim the right. Cal had first chance because he had personally warned the man of the consequences. But I am equally accused. You must admit my prior claim." The major came off the boil. Puffing his red cheeks in and out he considered. "Yo're right, suh," he conceded reluctantly. After considerable persuasion, and some flattery as to his familiarity with the niceties of the Code, the major consented to bear Jimmy's defiance. He entered Keith's office again, stiffer than a ramrod. Keith smiled at him. "There's no use, Major, I won't fight Cal Bennett," he greeted his visitor. "I am the bearer of a challenge from Mistah James Ware," he announced. "What!" yelled Keith, so suddenly and violently that Major Miles recoiled a step. "From Mistah James Ware," he repeated. Keith laughed savagely. "Oh, I'll fight him," he growled; "gladly; any time he wants it." The major's face lit up. "If you'll name yo' friend, suh," he suggested. "Friend? Friend? What for? I'm capable of arranging this. I haven't time to hunt up a friend." "It's customary," objected the major. "Look here," Keith swept on, "I'm the challenged party and I have the say-so, haven't I?" "Yo' can name the weapons," conceded Major Marmaduke Miles. "All right, we'll call this revolvers, navy revolvers--biggest there are, whatever that is. And close up. None of your half-mile shooting." "Ten yards," suggested Major Miles with unholy joy. "And right away--this afternoon," went on Keith. "If that little runt wants trouble, egad he's going to have all his little skin will hold." But the major would not have this. It was not done. He waived conducting his negotiations through a second, but that was as far as his conventional soul would go. He held out for three o'clock the following afternoon. "And I wish to apologize, Mistah Keith," he said, on parting, "fo' my ill-considered words of a short time ago. I misunderstood yo' reasons fo' refusin' to fight Mistah Bennett." He bowed his rotund, tightly buttoned little figure and departed, to strike Jimmy Ware with complete consternation.