r 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, cocked 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 th