t it should be held," said the
other, quietly.

"My husband spoke very harshly to the poor man," added Aunt Yvonne.
"But, I am afraid, Caspar, he did not understand a word you said. You
were very much excited." The sweet old lady's attempts at English were
much more laborious than her husband's.

"If he did not understand my English, he was very good at guessing,"
said her husband, grimly.

"He told me you had threatened to call him out," ventured the young man.

"Call him out? Ach, a railroad conductor!" exclaimed Uncle Caspar, in
fine scorn.

"Caspar, I heard you say that you would call him out," interposed his
wife, with reproving eyes.

"Ach, God! God! I have made a mistake! I see it all! It was the
other word I meant--down not out! I intended to call him down, as you
Americans say. I hope he will not think I challenged him." He was very
much perturbed.

"I think he was afraid you would," said Lorry.

"He should have no fear. I could not meet a railroad conductor. Will you
please tell him I could not so condescend? Besides, dueling is murder in
your country, I am told."

"It usually is, sir. Much more so than in Europe." The others looked
at him inquiringly. "I mean that in America when two men pull
their revolvers and go to shooting at each other, some one is
killed--frequently both. In Europe, as I understand it, a scratch with a
sword ends the combat."

"You have been misinformed," exclaimed Uncle Caspar, his eyebrows
elevated.

"Why, Uncle Caspar has fought more duels than he can count," cried the
girl, proudly.

"And has he slain his man every time?" asked Grenfall, smilingly,
glancing from one to the other. Aunt Yvonne shot a reproving look at the
girl, whose face paled instantly, her eyes going quickly in affright to
the face of her uncle.

"God!" Lorry heard the old gentleman mutter. He was looking at his bill
of fare, but his eyes were fixed and staring. The card was crumpling
between the long, bony fingers. The American realized that a forbidden
topic had been touched upon.

"He has fought and he has slain," he thought as quick as a flash, "He is
no butcher, no gardener, no cobbler. That's certain!"

"Tell us, Uncle Caspar, what you said to the conductor," cried the young
lady, nervously.

"Tell them, Caspar, how alarmed we were," added soft-voiced Aunt Yvonne.
Grenfall was a silent, interested spectator. He somehow felt as if a
scene from some tragedy had been reproduced in that bri