"There's nothing gentlemanly in
quarrelling or fighting."

"And refer the matter to friends," continued the young military officer.

Bob's face was red as that of a turkey-cock the moment before, but at
these words the anger seemed to pass away like a cloud from before the
sun, and he burst into a hearty fit of laughter.

"Oh!" he said, "that's what you mean is it? Swords, or pistols, and
seconds, early in the morning, with a doctor on the ground. Oh, I say,
Tom Long, this is too delicious."

"Sir!" exclaimed Tom Long.

"I say it's too delicious. Duelling be hanged; it's fools' work; and
I'm not quite fool enough to let a friend make a hole, or try to make a
hole, in my precious carcase."

"Sir, none but a coward would speak as you are speaking," cried Tom
Long, indignantly.

"Oh, wouldn't he?" said Bob. "Well, then, I suppose I'm a coward, for
hang me if we don't get running risks enough from these coffee-coloured
fellows, without trying it on among ourselves."

"I thought you more of a gentleman," said Tom Long, contemptuously.

"Oh, you did, did you?" said Bob; "and I'm a coward, am I? Well, look
here, my lad, it's too hot now, but if you like to come on board
to-night, or to-morrow morning, and take off your jacket like a man,
I'll have it out with you in the gun-room, and old Dick to see fair, and
you can bring Private Gray or Sergeant Lund."

"What do you mean?" said Tom Long, haughtily; "swords or pistols, sir?"

"Do I mean swords or pistols, sir?" said Bob, imitating the other's
pompous way; "no, sir, I don't mean either. I reserve those lethal
weapons, sir, for Her Majesty's enemies, sir, as an officer and a
gentleman should; and when I fall out with a friend, I punch his head
with my fist--like a man."

"Like a man!" said Tom Long, in tones of disgust; "like a schoolboy or a
blackguard."

"No, sir," said Bob, still mimicking his companion; "the schoolboy or
man who uses his fists is to my mind not half such a blackguard as the
_gentleman_ who tries to kill a fellow in cold blood, and calls it on
account of his honour."

"The old contemptible argument," said Tom Long, sneering. "No one but a
coward would take refuge behind such excuses."

"Then I'm a coward!" said Bob, cocking his heels up on a chair, and
sticking his hands in his pockets. "All right: I'm a coward; and as we
used to say at school, `give me the coward's blow,' and if you do, Tom
Long, you see if I don't punch your head