The Place of Honeymoons Part 32

"I'll look you up to-morrow, and on my part I sha'n't ask for any apology.

In a little while you'll thank me. You will even laugh with me."

"Permit me to doubt that," angrily. He threw open the door.

Courtlandt was too wise to argue further. He had obtained the object of his errand, and that was enough for the present. "Sorry you are not open to reason. Good morning."

When the door closed, Abbott tramped the floor and vented his temper on the much abused footstool, which he kicked whenever it came in the line of his march. In his soul he knew that Courtlandt was right. More than that, he knew that presently he would seek him and apologize.

Unfortunately, neither of them counted on the colonel.

Without being quite conscious of the act, Abbott took down from the wall an ancient dueling-pistol, c.o.c.ked it, snapped it, and looked it over with an interest that he had never before bestowed on it. And the colonel, bursting into the studio, found him absorbed in the contemplation of this old death-dealing instrument.

"Ha!" roared the old war dog. "Had an idea that something like this was going to happen. Put that up. You couldn't kill anything with that unless you hit 'em on the head with it. Leave the matter to me. I've a pair of pistols, sighted to hit a shilling at twenty yards. Of course, you can't fight him with swords. He's one of the best in all Italy. But you've just as good a chance as he has with pistols. Nine times out of ten the tyro hits the bull's-eye, while the crack goes wild. Just you sit jolly tight.

Who's his second; Courtlandt?"

"Yes." Abbott was truly and completely bewildered.

"He struck you first, I understand, and you knocked him down. Good! My tennis-courts are out of the way. We can settle this matter to-morrow morning at dawn. Ellicott will come over from Cadenabbia with his saws.

He's close-mouthed. All you need to do is to keep quiet. You can spend the night at the villa with me, and I'll give you a few ideas about shooting a pistol. Here; write what I dictate." He pushed Abbott over to the desk and forced him into the chair. Abbott wrote mechanically, as one hypnotized.

The colonel seized the letter. "No flowery sentences; a few words bang at the mark. Come up to the villa as soon as you can. We'll jolly well cool this Italian's blood."

And out he went, banging the door. There was something of the directness of a bullet in the old fellow's methods.

Literally, Abbott had been rushed off his feet. The moment his confusion cleared he saw the predicament into which his own stupidity and the amiable colonel's impetuous good offices had plunged him. He was horrified. Here was Courtlandt carrying the apology, and hot on his heels was the colonel, with the final arrangements for the meeting. He ran to the door, bareheaded, took the stairs three and four at a bound. But the energetic Anglo-Indian had gone down in bounds also; and when the distracted artist reached the street, the other was nowhere to be seen.

Apparently there was nothing left but to send another apology. Rather than perform so shameful and cowardly an act he would have cut off his hand.

The Barone, pale and determined, pa.s.sed the second note to Courtlandt who was congratulating himself (prematurely as will be seen) on the peaceful dispersion of the war-clouds. He was dumfounded.

"You will excuse me," he said meekly. He must see Abbott.

"A moment," interposed the Barone coldly. "If it is to seek another apology, it will be useless. I refuse to accept. Mr. Abbott will fight, or I will publicly brand him, the first opportunity, as a coward."

Courtlandt bit his mustache. "In that case, I shall go at once to Colonel Caxley-Webster."

"Thank you. I shall be in my room at the villa the greater part of the day." The Barone bowed.

Courtlandt caught the colonel as he was entering his motor-boat.

"Come over to tiffin."

"Very well; I can talk here better than anywhere else."

When the motor began its racket, Courtlandt pulled the colonel over to him.

"Do you know what you have done?"

"Done?" dropping his eye-gla.s.s.

"Yes. Knowing that Abbott would have no earthly chance against the Italian, I went to him and forced him to write an apology. And you have blown the whole thing higher than a kite."

The colonel's eyes bulged. "Dem it, why didn't the young fool tell me?"

"Your hurry probably rattled him. But what are we going to do? I'm not going to have the boy hurt. I love him as a brother; though, just now, he regards me as a mortal enemy. Perhaps I am," moodily. "I have deceived him, and somehow--blindly it is true--he knows it. I am as full of deceit as a pomegranate is of seeds."

"Have him send another apology."

"The Barone is thoroughly enraged. He would refuse to accept it, and said so."

"Well, dem me for a well-meaning meddler!"

"With pleasure, but that will not stop the row. There is a way out, but it appeals to me as d.a.m.nably low."

"Oh, Abbott will not run. He isn't that kind."

"No, he'll not run. But if you will agree with me, honor may be satisfied without either of them getting hurt."

"Women beat the devil, don't they? What's your plan?"

Courtlandt outlined it.

The colonel frowned. "That doesn't sound like you. Beastly trick."

"I know it."

"We'll lunch first. It will take a few pegs to get that idea through this bally head of mine."

When Abbott came over later that day, he was subdued in manner. He laughed occasionally, smoked a few cigars, but declined stimulants. He even played a game of tennis creditably. And after dinner he shot a hundred billiards.

The colonel watched his hands keenly. There was not the slightest indication of nerves.

"Hang the boy!" he muttered. "I ought to be ashamed of myself. There isn't a bit of funk in his whole make-up."

At nine Abbott retired. He did not sleep very well. He was irked by the morbid idea that the Barone was going to send the bullet through his throat. He was up at five. He strolled about the garden. He realized that it was very good to be alive. Once he gazed somberly at the little white villa, away to the north. How crisply it stood out against the dark foliage! How blue the water was! And far, far away the serene snowcaps!

Nora Harrigan ... Well, he was going to stand up like a man. She should never be ashamed of her memory of him. If he went out, all worry would be at an end, and that would be something. What a mess he had made of things!

He did not blame the Italian. A duel! he, the son of a man who had invented wash-tubs, was going to fight a duel! He wanted to laugh; he wanted to cry. Wasn't he just dreaming? Wasn't it all a nightmare out of which he would presently awake?

"Breakfast, Sahib," said Rao, deferentially touching his arm.

He was awake; it was all true.

"You'll want coffee," began the colonel. "Drink as much as you like. And you'll find the eggs good, too." The colonel wanted to see if Abbott ate well.

The artist helped himself twice and drank three cups of coffee. "You know, I suppose all men in a hole like this have funny ideas. I was just thinking that I should like a partridge and a bottle of champagne."

"We'll have that for tiffin," said the colonel, confidentially. In fact, he summoned the butler and gave the order.

"It's mighty kind of you, Colonel, to buck me up this way."

"Rot!" The colonel experienced a slight heat in his leathery cheeks. "All you've got to do is to hold your arm out straight, pull the trigger, and squint afterward."