"There!" his wife said, agitating her bath water. She pointed dramatically to the window. "Gad!" the Colonel snorted. "That's the damndest damnyankee I've ever seen. He's upside down, isn't he? Gave me quite a turn for a second there. But it looks like he's had quite a turn himself." The Colonel chuckled foolishly at his own pleasantry. "I'm the one who's had the turn!" his wife snapped. "Stop that silly gigglin' and titterin', you old fool, and do something." The Colonel considered. "Yes, yes," he murmured. "I suppose I'll have to shoot the dog; there isn't enough of him to flog." "My water's getting cool," Mrs. Hunter Reynolds mentioned fretfully. "Good," the Colonel said absently. "Good. Keep it that way." He started from the room. "Help!" Marc yelled. The Colonel whirled about at the doorway. "Not a word out of you, sir!" he said tartly. "Not a word!" * * * * * He left the room and almost instantly was back bearing a pair of ominous bone-handled dueling pistols. These he cocked carefully and aimed in Marc's general direction. "Make your peace, sir," he said. He turned to his wife. "Close your eyes so you won't see this." "No!" Marc yelled. "Just a moment, dear," Mrs. Hunter Reynolds interrupted. "I don't like to interfere in the affairs of menfolk, you know that, dear, but don't you think we ought to keep in mind that we still have southern blood in our veins even if we are in the North?" The Colonel observed his wife scowlingly. "How do you mean?" he asked. "It isn't southern courtesy to shoot a man when he's a sittin' target." The Colonel turned it over in his mind. "You're quite right, dear," he said finally. He turned to Marc. "Sir, would you mind movin' about a bit out there so I can shoot you in honor?" "I can't!" Marc gasped. His arms were so tired, and his head so thick with blood, that he didn't care much at this point whether he was about to be shot or not. "Shoot me in cold blood," he said. "To hell with your honor." The Colonel turned questioningly to his wife. "Should I?" he asked. "You heard what he said about my honor." Mrs. Hunter Reynolds was hesitant. "Suppose the news got out around back home?" she said. "Folks would say you weren't a real southern gentleman anymore. They'd say you'd been tainted by the North. You'd never be able to hold up a julep in public again." "For the love of heaven!" Marc moaned. "Either help me or shoot me, only make it snappy." "Better not risk it," the Colonel decided. "I've got to have a moving target." The bathroom became quiet with the heavy stillness of impasse. Then there was a ripple from the bathtub as Mrs. Hunter Reynolds brightened. "I know!" she cried. "If the target can't move, why don't you? Wouldn't it be all right that way? You could rush about a bit and when you've got up your speed turn and shoot him."