May flashed another quick glance. Certainly the young man appeared to be in earnest—but the whole thing was absurd. He was on the point of selecting swords, as the first word to come to hand, but decided hurriedly against doing so. It was conceivable Eliphalet, in the heat of his anger, might snatch up a sword and make a dig at him. In the course of one or two previous productions they had fought a few stage-fights, and Eliphalet Cardomay had rather a pretty knack with a blade. Pistols and the thought of speeding lead would very soon destroy the foolish ideas that were possessing him, thought May; so with a world of dignity he said: “I choose the trusty old bundook.” “We will meet at midnight by the ruined mill in Jesmond Dene,” said Eliphalet, and walked sedately from the room. Harrington May sat motionless awhile, regarding his own image in the glass. He felt oddly cold, and his jaw showed a disposition to tremble. “Whew!” he said, squaring his shoulders. “This is silly! That young upstart is trying to bounce me. Well, we must come back on him heavily, that’s all.” He rose and finished dressing. At the stage-door a few members of the company had gathered, and an inspiration seized him to narrate what had occurred. So, with plenty of noise and a liberal allowance of margin for his own repartee, he recounted the side-splitting exchanges that had led up to the challenge. “What do you think, boys?” he shouted. “It’s pistols for two, at midnight.” To a chorus of “No,” “Chuck it,” and “You’re having us on, old man,” he responded: “Solemn fact, I give you my word. We meet in Jesmond Dene at the witching hour of twelve. Coffee for one at five past.” Never before had the company enjoyed so rich a jest, and they fell about in ecstasies of rib-punching laughter. “’Course I saw through it,” said May, “though he played his bluff well. I wish some of you had been there. I was as solemn as a judge. Lord! it was funny.” “D’you think he was bluffing, then?” asked a very young man, whose name was Manning, and who secretly harboured admiration for Eliphalet Cardomay. “I don’t _think_ about it, darling,” responded May, and was greeted with a fresh burst of merriment, in which all but the aforesaid youngster joined. “It ’ud be funnier still,” he ventured, “if it turned out that he wasn’t bluffing at all.” But no one took any notice of that aside. “What are you going to do, Mr. May?” asked one. “I shall turn up, of course, dear boy, and, like as not, catch a cold waiting half the night, while our little friend is sleeping in bed. Tell you what: this joke is too big to keep to oneself. I’ll pay the hire of a wagonette, then you can all slip off after the show and see the fun.”