"Well, if that's what you're after we'll accommodate you!" exclaimed Murchison. "Porshinger, let's give them what's coming to them"--and picking up a chair he let it drive at Burgoyne's head. The next few minutes were very busy for all parties concerned--and when the astonished servants, attracted by the noise of overturning tables and shifting feet, hurried to the scene, Porshinger and Murchison were bearing their contusions down to the wash-room, while Pendleton and Burgoyne, without a scratch upon them--except for abraded knuckles--were in their chairs and smoking peacefully. "What was it all about--why did they start the rough house?" Porshinger demanded, while they were repairing the damages. "Don't you know?" asked Murchison. "If I knew I wouldn't have asked you!" the other retorted. "They overheard our talk about Mrs. Lorraine and resented it, I think," said Murchison. "Hell! I might have known--Pendleton and Burgoyne met her when she came here this afternoon. Well, I fancy we can square off with them; Mrs. Lorraine is a pretty fair target--and Pendleton is not invulnerable to those who know how to reach him." "You would better let Pendleton alone," cautioned Murchison. "What! I think not. I'm not that sort. He started the fight so I'm going to accommodate him. Didn't like the cut of our coats, didn't they? What the devil did they mean by that--what's our clothes got to do with starting a rough-house?" he reiterated. "I don't understand--they didn't mention the Lorraine woman's name!" "No, that is just it!" Murchison remarked. "They didn't mention her name; they chose some fool pretext for a quarrel so as not to mix her up with it. I've read of the thing, but I've never seen it before. Pretty neat dodge: I don't like the cut of your coat, or whiskers, or cravat, or trousers--so I'll knock your infernal block off. Biff! And the lady's name never mentioned! It's damn neat." Porshinger looked at him in disgust. "Why don't you go and tell them so!" he sneered. "They'll likely be courteous and biff you again." "Probably they would," admitted Murchison good-naturedly. "I didn't know they were so handy with their fists," Porshinger growled--he was bathing an eye in cold water. "Maybe we were only particularly unhandy with ours," the other remarked. "At any rate, they're better than us, all right." "Better at the fist-game, yes," retorted Porshinger. "We'll see now if they're better at some other games, damn them." "Better forget it--and hold our tongues," Murchison advised again. "Forget it? Not me! I never forget an injury--and I usually square off my debts. See!" VI ON THE BRIDLE-PATH The talk which Stephanie and Gladys Chamberlain had the following morning was prolonged into the after luncheon hours.