“And why do you say ‘your king?’ Is he not also _your_ king?” “Why, sir, I might be pleasantly willing,” observes Planter Paul Jones airily, “to give you my share in King George. In any event, I do not propose that you shall examine into my allegiance. And I say again that, if I were your king, sir, I’d find you better English work to do than an irritating and foolish patrol of these coasts.” “You spoke of the Americans striking a blow,” says Lieutenant Parker, who is gifted of that pertinacity of memory common to half-drunken men; “you spoke but a moment back of the Americans striking a blow, and a heavy one.” “Ay, sir! a blow--given provocation.” Lieutenant Parker wags his head with an air of sagacity both bibulous and supercilious. He smiles victoriously, as a fortunate comparison bobs up to his mind. “A blow!” he murmurs. Then, fixing Planter Paul Jones with an eye of bleary scorn: “The Americans would be quickly lashed into their kennels again. The more easily, if the courage of the American men, as I think’s the case, is no more firmly founded than the chastity of the American women.” [Illustration: 0006] Planter Paul Jones deals Lieutenant Parker a blow with his clenched fist, the like of which was never before seen even in the violent port of Norfolk. Lieutenant Parker’s nose is crushed flat with his face; he falls like some pole-axed ox. His fellow-officers lift him to his feet, bleeding, stunned beyond words. “You shall hear from us!” is the fierce cry from his comrades, as they hurry the stricken Parker from the ballroom. “I shall be pleased to hear from any or all of you,” replies Planter Paul Jones; “or from what other dogs in king’s coats shall question the honor of American women.” Then, turning to Mr. Hurst: “You, sir, shall act for me! Accept every challenge they send! Make it pistols, ten paces, with Craney Island for the place; and fix the time to suit their English convenience.” CHAPTER VII--THE BLAST OF WAR Norfolk is never more at peace than on the day succeeding the ball. There is no challenge, no duel. Planter Paul Jones waits to hear from Lieutenant Parker; at first hopefully; in the end, when nothing comes, with doubtful brow of grief. Is it that Lieutenant Parker will not fight? Planter Paul Jones hears the suggestion from his friend Mr. Hurst with polite scorn. Such heresy is beyond reach. “He _must_ fight,” urges Planter Paul Jones, desperately keeping alive the fires of his hope. “He will fight, if for no other reason, then because it is his trade. Lieutenant Parker is pugnacious by profession; that of itself will make him toe the peg.” Planter Paul Jones is wrong. Lieutenant Parker never shows his beaten face on American soil again. Nor does any bellicose gentleman appear for Lieutenant Parker, or propose to take his place.