THE EMBASSY OF THE PARSON.
"What's happened?" cried Texas, as soon as he'd managed to get calm
enough to talk coherently. "What's happened?"
"Sit down," said Mark, laughing in spite of himself. "Sit down and stop
your dancing. Everybody in the place is staring at you."
Texas sat, and then Mark described to him just what had happened. As
might have been expected, he was up in arms in a moment.
"Where is that feller? Now, look a 'yere, Mark, leggo me. Thar he goes!
Say, if I don't git him by the neck an'----"
The excitable youth was quieted after some ten minutes' work or so, and
immediate danger was over.
"And now," said Mark, "where's the Parson?"
"Over in library," responded the other, "a fossilizin'. What do you want
with him?"
"You be good," said Mark, "and I'll let you see. Come on."
They found the Parson as Texas had said, and they managed to separate
him from the books and drag him over to barracks. Then Mark, who by this
time had recovered his usual easy good-nature, told of "Mr. Murray's"
insult again.
"Now, I haven't the least objection," he continued, "of being sent to
Coventry. In fact, so long as it means the cadets' leaving me alone, I
rather like the idea. But I don't propose to stand a thing like that
which just happened for a moment. So there's got to be a fight, and if
they won't let me, I'll have to make 'em, that's all."
"Um," said the Parson, looking grave. "Um."
"Now, as for that fellow Murray," added Mark, "I don't propose to fight
him."
"Wow!" shouted Texas. "What in thunder do you mean? Now if you don't, by
jingo! I'll go and do it myself!"
"Take it easy," said Mark, laughing. "You see, Williams is the man the
class has selected to beat me; he's the best fighter. Now, if I beat
anybody else it won't do me the least bit of good; they'd still say I'm
afraid of Williams. So I'm going to try him first. How's that, Texas?"
"Reckon you're right," admitted Powers, rather sheepishly. "I 'spose
you'll let me go and arrange it, hey?"
"I'd as soon think of sending a dynamite bomb," laughed Mark. "You'd be
in a fight before he'd said three words. That's what I wanted the Parson
for. I think he'd be grave and scholarly even if they ate him."
"Thank you," said the Parson, gravely. "I should try."
"Wow!" growled Texas.
And thus it happened that the Parson set out for "Camp McPherson," a
short while later, his learned head full of prize fighting and the
methods and practice of diplomacy.
It was rather an unusual thing for a plebe to do--this venturing into
"camp;" and the cadets stared at the Parson, wondering what an amount of
curiosity he must have to go prospecting within the lines of the enemy.
The Parson, however, did not act as if curiosity had brought him; with a
businesslike air and a solemn visage he strode down the company street,
and, heedless of the cadets who had gathered at the tent doors to see
him, halted in front of one before which he saw "Billy" Williams
standing.
"Mr. Williams?" said the Parson.
Mr. Williams had been engaged in vigorously drying his face; he paused,
and gazed up out of the towel in surprise, and one of his tent mates,
Cadet Captain Fischer, ceased unwinding himself from his long red sash
and stared.
"My name is Stanard," said the Parson--"Peter Stanard."
"Pleased to meet you," said Williams, stretching out a long, brawny arm.
There was a twinkle in the yearling's eye as he glanced at the skinny
white fingers which Stanard put out in return. And, taking in the
stranger's lank, scholarly figure, Williams seized the hand and squeezed
with all his might.
He expected to hear a howl, but he was disappointed. The Parson drew up
his "prehensile muscles," as he called them. The result was that Cadet
Williams turned white, but he said nothing about it, and invited the
stranger into his tent.
The Parson deposited himself gently in one corner and drew up his long
legs under him. Then he gazed out of the tent and said--"ahem!"
"Warm day," said Williams, by way of a starter.
"It is not that the temperature is excessively altitudinous," responded
the Parson, "but the presence of a larger proportion of humidity retards
perspiratory exudation."
"Er--yes," said Williams. "Yes, I think that's it."
"I have come--ahem!" continued Stanard, "as a representative of Mr.
Mallory."
The other bowed.
"Mr. Mallory desires to know--if you will pardon my abruptness in
proceeding immediately to the matter in hand--to know if it is not
possible for you to fulfill a certain--er--engagement which you had with
him."
"I see," said Williams, thoughtfully, and he tapped the floor with his
foot for a minute or so.
"Mr. Mallory, of course, understands," he continued at last, "that I
have no grudge against him at all."
"Certainly," said the Parson.
"In fact, I rather admire Mr. Mallory, on the whole, though some of his
actions have been, I think, imprudent. In this matter I am simply the
deputy of the class."
"Exactly," said the Parson, bowing profusely.
"Therefore, I fight when the class says so, and when they say no, what
reason have I for fighting? Now, the class thinks that Mr. Mallory has
had chance enough, and----"
"But they don't know the circumstances!" protested Stanard, with more
suddenness than was usual with him.
"They do not," responded the other. "But they'd like to."
"I do not know them myself," said the Parson. "But I have faith enough
in Mr. Mallory to take his word that it was unavoidable."
"You must have a good deal," added Williams, his handsome face looking
grave, "a good deal to risk being sent to Coventry."
"I am willing. Examples of yet higher devotion to a _fides amicus_, so
to speak, are by no means extraordinary. Take the popular instance of
Damon and Pythias, or, if you look for one yet more conspicuous, I would
mention Prylocates and Tyndarus, in the well-known play of 'The
Captive,' by Plautus, with which you are doubtless familiar."
And the Parson closed his learned discourse with his favorite occupation
of wiping his brow.
"The risk is your own," responded the yearling, calmly. "You must not
mind if the class resents your view of the case."
There was a few moments' silence after that, during which the Parson
racked his head to think what to say next.
"You refuse, then, to fight Mr. Mallory?" he inquired at last.
"Absolutely!" responded the other. "Absolutely, until the class so
directs."
Then the Parson drew a long breath, and prepared for the culminating
stroke.
"What I say next, Mr. Williams," said he, "you will understand is said
with all possible politeness and good feeling, but it must be said. Mr.
Mallory has been insulted by some cadets as a coward. He must free
himself from the suspicion. Mr. Williams, if a plebe should strike an
older cadet, would that make a fight necessary?"
"Most certainly," said Williams, flushing.
"Well, now, suppose he simply threatened to do so," continued Stanard.
"Would that be cause enough?"
"It might."
"Well, then, Mr. Williams, Mr. Mallory desires me with all politeness
to beg permission to threaten to strike you."
"I see," said the other, smiling at the solemn air with which the lank
stranger made this extraordinary request. "I see. I have no objection to
his so doing."
"Thank you," said Stanard. "A fight is now necessary, I believe?"
"Er--yes," said Williams. "I believe it is." The fact of the matter was
that he saw that Mark was in a position to force a fight if he chose,
and the yearling was by no means reluctant, anyhow.
"I thank you for your courtesy," he continued, bowing Stanard out of the
tent. "Tell Mr. Mallory that I shall send my second to see him this
evening. Good-day."
And Stanard bowed and strode away with joy in his very stride.
"We have met the enemy," was his report to Mark. "We have met the enemy,
and there's going to be a fight!"