The fume that the old admiral was in beggars all description. He walked to Bannerworth Hall at such a rapid pace, that Jack Pringle had the greatest difficulty in the world to keep up with him, so as to be at all within speaking distance. “Hilloa, Jack,” cried the old man, when they were close to the Hall. “Did you see me kick that fellow?” “Ay, ay, sir.” “Well, that’s some consolation, at any rate, if somebody saw it. It ought to have been his master, that’s all I can say to it, and I wish it had.” “How have you settled it, sir?” “Settled what?” “The fight, sir.” “D—n me, Jack, I haven’t settled it at all.” “That’s bad, sir.” “I know it is; but it shall be settled for all that, I can tell him, let him vapour as much as he may about pinking me, and one thing and another.” “Pinking you, sir?” “Yes. He wants to fight with cutlasses, or toasting-forks, d—n me, I don’t know exactly which, and then he must have a surgeon on the ground, for fear when he pinks me I shouldn’t slip my cable in a regular way, and he should be blamed.” Jack gave a long whistle, as he replied,— “Going to do it, sir?” “I don’t know now what I’m going to do. Mind, Jack, mum is the word.” “Ay, ay, sir.” “I’ll turn the matter over in my mind, and then decide upon what had best be done. If he pinks me, I’ll take d—d good care he don’t pink Charles.” “No, sir, don’t let him do that. A _wamphigher_, sir, ain’t no good opponent to anybody. I never seed one afore, but it strikes me as the best way to settle him, would be to shut him up in some little bit of a cabin, and then smoke him with brimstone, sir.” “Well, well, I’ll consider, Jack, I’ll consider. Something must be done, and that quickly too. Zounds, here’s Charles—what the deuce shall I say to him, by way of an excuse, I wonder, for not arranging his affair with Varney? Hang me, if I ain’t taken aback now, and don’t know where to place a hand.” CHAPTER XXIV. THE LETTER TO CHARLES.—THE QUARREL.—THE ADMIRAL’S NARRATIVE.—THE MIDNIGHT MEETING. It was Charles Holland who now advanced hurriedly to meet the admiral. The young man’s manner was anxious. He was evidently most intent upon knowing what answer could be sent by Sir Francis Varney to his challenge. “Uncle,” he said, “tell me at once, will he meet me? You can talk of particulars afterwards, but now tell me at once if he will meet me?” “Why, as to that,” said the admiral, with a great deal of fidgetty hesitation, “you see, I can’t exactly say.” “Not say!” “No. He’s a very odd fish. Don’t you think he’s a very odd fish, Jack Pringle?” “Ay, ay, sir.” “There, you hear, Charles, that Jack is of my opinion that your opponent is an odd fish.” “But, uncle, why trifle with my impatience thus? Have you seen Sir Francis Varney?” “Seen him. Oh, yes.” “And what did he say?” “Why, to tell the truth, my lad, I advise you not to fight with him at all.”