University of Virginia Library

35. CHAPTER XXXV.
HOW CAPTAIN TARNISH CAME TO AND WENT FROM
MR. SANSOUCY'S OFFICE.

Sansoucy was just finishing his morning task when his
friend entered; and without raising his eyes, said, smiling:

“Good morning, Ralph—I knew your step—sit down
Another paragraph and I am done.”

Mr. Incledon sat down; and for some moments the
swift pen of the journalist glided over the yellow slip before
him, making only that slight scratching which accompanies
the best goose quill.

“There!” he cried, suddenly, “I'm done! The cause
of freedom has advanced a mighty league by that production!—as
my brother editor and compeer Jefferson Brick
would say. How singular, Ralph,” he added, holding out
his hand, which was cordially pressed, “how singular that
Mr. Dickens should believe there is no intelligence or
honesty or fairness in American editors! I think the
journalists of this Republic are much before even the
English, in the greatest and truest elements of their profession:
and I think this is plainly the result of what the
English scoff at and despise as an enormity—our free
atmosphere and youth and vigor as a nation! Old England
scowls at Young America!—but, Ralph, your brow is
clouded—here I am thrusting politics for ever on you,
and—you are troubled about something!”

And Sansoucy gazed at his friend more attentively.

“I am in indifferent spirits this morning, Ernest,” was
Mr. Incledon's reply, “and I don't think I should tell
even you the cause of it. Don't ask me.”

“The cause of it? Not tell me!”

“I cannot.”

Sansoucy looked at his friend for a moment with great
surprise: then nodding, replied:

“Well, Ralph! Then I ask no questions—but your
visit is with some definite purpose, more than—”

“Simply friendly? Yes.”

And Mr. Incledon sighed.

“I leave town in the morning for a short time,” he said,
and I wish you to take charge of all the duties which we
share—you understand me.”

“Perfectly—up yonder.”

“Yes—it is double labor, but I will soon return.”

“Very well—I ask no questions and I acquiesce without
a word. But what in the world could have—there it
is! Pardon me, Ralph: I'm a journalist, and in my
quality as such, have a mania for procuring the `latest
intelligence' with full details. But my mouth is sealed.

And Mr. Sansoucy fixed his lips firmly, as if determined
to preserve his character for resolution, and forbearance.

“It would scarcely interest you, Ernest—the reason for
my dullness, and my departure,” said Mr. Incledon, “and
I have no right to tell even you.”

“Perfectly satisfactory.”

“To another person I would not even say as much—it
is not my affair. Enough.”

“A thousand times enough, Ralph—and now say no
more about it. I hate your model friend who insists upon
having your bosom laid open before him, with its thoughts,
intentions, feelings, perhaps even its sufferings all patent.
There are things we do not whisper even to our wives,”
said Mr. Sansoucy, wishing to divert his friend from his
low spirits, by a jest, “and faith! I don't think it a bad
rule to tell them nothing—when we have wives!”

And having thus given a cheerful turn to the conversation,
Mr. Sansoucy, with that good humor which was like

a cordial in its effects upon his friends, took up a journal
and folded it conveniently to read a number of the
“Lorgnette,” which was published in its columns.

He had just fixed himself to read aloud one of the
admirable passages of that entertaining serial, when a
noisy step was heard ascending the stairs, and soon a
knock came at the door—a knock full of dignity and
authority and swagger—if the things are compatible.

“Enter!” said Mr. Sansouey, with the air of a man
who utters the word, frequently.

The door opened, and the worthy Captain Tarnish
made his appearanee.

Captain Tarnish looked even more splendid and martial
than before: his chin was higher in the air: his hat was
more on one side of his head: his boots seemed glossier,
and his hat: his nose was elevated at an angle which
expressed the consciousness upon its owner's part of a
great mission, not without some danger, which he intended
to swagger through the performance of, as impressively as
possible.

“Good morning, Captain Tarnish,” said Mr. Sansoucy,
bowing but holding his hand behind his back—“walk in,
sir.”

“Thank, you, sir,” said Captain Tarnish, grandly.

And looking at Mr. Incledon, he said:

“I believe I have a communication for you, sir!”

“For me, sir?” said that gentleman, coldly.

“Yes, sir—I believe your name is Incledon.”

“It is, sir.”

“Then I have this note for you, sir.”

And Captain Tarnish extracted from the breast-pocket,
where he had deposited it, as we have said, the note which
he had held between his—large-sized—kid-gloved fingers,
when we met him at the residence of the gentleman to
whom it was addressed.

“This is it, sir,” said Captain Tarnish, advancing two
steps with a martial swagger; “I'll wait for an answer,
and a reference to your friend, sir!”

Mr. Incledon took the note calmly and coolly, gazed
for a moment at Captain Tarnish, in a way which evidently
rendered that worthy ill at ease, and said:

“What does this note contain, sir, and from whom is it?”

“You will see by opening it, sir,” replied Captain Tarnish,
with his hand upon his hip, and straightening his
shoulders.

Mr. Incledon opened the note and read the following
words:

Mr. Incledon read the note quite calmly, and then
stretching out the hand which held it, said:

“You may take this back, sir, to the source it issued
from.”

“Take it back!” cried Captain Tarnish, with his most
terrible frown.

“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Incledon, gazing serenely into the
Captain's face.

“Take what back!” said Sansoucy, reaching out his
hand and grasping the letter.

“A note from Mr. Fantish, the younger.”

And Mr. Incledon placed the billet in his friend's hand.

Mr. Sansoucy ran his eye over it rapidly, and frowning,
said:

“A challenge!”

“Yes! a challenge, sir,” said Captain Tarnish, precisely,
sir! a challenge, sir, to fight a duel, sir!”

And never had the Captain looked more terrible and
annihilating. Homer would have said that direful war
was shaken from his locks, and in his eyes rolled death,
and blood, and carnage.

“A challenge,” said Mr. Incledon, calmly and coldly:
which I refuse, sir. Go back to your friend, and tell him
as much.”

“Refuse, sir?” said the Captain, in a blustering tone.

“Yes, sir—refuse.”

“Would you be good enough to place your refusal
upon paper?”

“Why, sir?”

“I prefer it.”

“I do not wish to insult you, sir,” Mr. Incledon said,
“but doubtless your friend can trust to your word.”

“Trust, sir!” cried the Captain, who construed Mr.
Incledon's calmness into a desire to escape any altercation—and
so found his courage immensely increased
thereby: “trust, sir! I would have you remember, sir,
that I am not in the habit of allowing—”

“Well, sir—then you can't have any objection to my
sending Mr. Fantish my reply by you,” said Mr. Incledon,
calmly. “You may tell him, sir, that I refuse his
defiance upon two separate grounds. First, that I do
not recognize the right of any man to force me into the
field of honor—as I believe your phrase is, sir; and
secondly, that if I went thither, I should select some other
adversary than Mr. Fantish. Yes, sir,” added Mr.
Incledon, yielding for a moment to his old excitability:
“I request you to inform your friend, distinctly, that I do
not recognize his right to place himself upon my level—
or the level of any honorable man; and if he attacks my
good name, I will chastise him!”

“Sir,” cried Captain Tarnish.

“But this is wrong,” muttered Mr. Incledon, who had
scarcely heard the Captain's interjection; “this is unnecessary,
and a mere giving way to passion. Tell your
friend, Mr. Fantish, sir,” he said aloud and quite calmly:
that I will not go to fight with him—that I do not look
upon the pistol as my umpire—that his note is sent back
to him, as if I had never read it.”

And Mr. Incledon inclined his head with great dignity,
and turned away.

“Sir!” said Captain Tarnish, who was now more than
ever confirmed in his views of Mr. Incledon's courage:
“sir! I am not to be received and treated thus!”

“You, sir!”

And Mr. Incledon wheeled round with a contempt,
which, however, disappeared in a moment, before his
great self-control.

“I have no quarrel with yourself,” he added, calmly,
sitting down; “let us part in peace, sir.”

“Nor any with my friend, it seems, sir!” said Captain
Tarnish, preparing to launch a parting swagger at his
opponent.

“Not of this description,” Mr. Incledon said, as
calmly.

“Well, sir! all I have to say is, that I do not permit
myself to be treated thus with insult!” said Captain
Tarnish, rising on his heels, and scowling terribly.

“I intend none, sir,” Mr. Incledon said, with a manifest
struggle, and a successful one, to resist any rising
anger.

“You give it, though, sir.”

“I am sorry.”

“Recollect, sir!” cried the Captain, curling his mustaches,
and inspired with terrific ferocity by his opponent's
mildness: “recollect, sir! that I am Captain Tarnish,
and when I come—”

“You know the way back again! Is that your meaning,
Captain Tarnish?” said Mr. Sansoncy, interposing
in the colloquy, and confronting him

“Sir! my meaning?”

“My meaning, Captain Tarnish,” said Sansoucy, who
began to flush: “is simply this, sir—that if you are
ignorant of the way back, I will show it to you!”

And Mr. Sansoucy advanced two steps toward the
Captain, in a way so threatening, that his adversary
unconsciously drew back.

“Yes, sir!” said Mr. Sansoucy, carried away by rage:
“you shall not vent your miserable threats here upon a
gentleman, who only spares you from contempt! You
shall not make the atmosphere of my apartment foul with
your swaggering, and bluster, and Dutch courage! I say
again, sir, and I say it so distinctly that you shall not
misunderstand it, or affect to—that unless you immediately
descend those steps, sir, I will send your carcass
down them in a way you will not relish!”

And giving way to that indignation which he had for
some time curbed, Mr. Sansoucy advanced upon Captain
Tarnish with the evident intention of immediately effecting
what he had threatened to do.

Let us not think too harshly of the worthy Captain for
his conduct under the circumstances. Perhaps the philosophers
will explain, some day, the modus by which lofty
courage, like a machine overstrained, collapses and is useless
to the engineer, precisely because pushed to an undue
action.

It could scarcely be expected that Captain Tarnish
should lay in a stock of heroism sufficient not only to
carry him grandly through so trying an interview, but to
hold out through a physical and personal contest afterwards.

It thus happened, that when Mr. Sansoucy, with the
most brilliant and earnest expression in his eyes, advanced
quickly in the direction of the Captain, that gentleman
muttered an indistinct and bitter curse, clutched nervously
his stick, and going from the apartment slammed the door,
and went away down the steps—in the natural and
agreeable manner customary with him, and the rest of his
species.

Sansoucy gazed for a moment at the door which separated
him from his adversary; curled his lip with an
elaboration which was powerfully expressive, and then
turning to his friend, said coolly:

“What a miserable feeling it must be, to boast and
swagger, bluster and utter threats, and then to sneak away,
and hide the head, and disappear, like this man!”