OF THE DEADLY QUARREL AND MORTAL COMBAT BETWEEN MOLE AND FIGGINS.
"One day," began Mr. Figgins, after a pause, "I was driving along
Belgravia Crescent with Lord--bless me! which of 'em was it?"
"Perhaps it was Lord Elpus," suggested Harkaway.
"Or Lord Nozoo?" said Girdwood.
"Are you sure he was a lord at all, Mr. Figgins?" asked Mole,
dubiously.
"Mr. Mole," said the orphan, indignantly; "do you doubt my veracity?"
"Not a bit," answered the schoolmaster, "but I doubt the _voracity_ of
your hearers being sufficient for them to _swallow_ all you are telling
us."
"Well, gentlemen," pursued Figgins, turning from Mole in disgust, "this
Lord Whatshisname used to have behind his carriage about the nicest
little tiger that ever was seen----"
"Nothing like the tiger I saw in Bengal one day, I'm sure," broke in
Mr. Mole, in a loud and positive tone. "Come, Figgins, I'll bet you ten
to one on it."
The orphan rose to his feet in great indignation.
"Isaac Mole, Esq., I have borne patiently with injuries almost too
great for mortal man throughout this day. I consider myself insulted by
you, and I will have satisfaction."
"Well, old boy, if you just mention what will satisfy you, I'll see,"
said Mole.
"Nothing short of a full and complete apology."
"You don't get that out of me," the schoolmaster scornfully retorted.
"Preposterous. What I, Isaac Mole, who took the degree of B. A. at the
almost infantine age of thirty-four, to apologise to one who is----"
"Who is what, sir?" demanded Figgins.
"Never mind. I don't want to use unbecoming expressions," said Mole.
"You wouldn't like to hear what I was going to say."
The orphan was so angry at this that, unheeding what he was doing, he
drank off nearly a tumblerful of strong sherry at once.
This, coming on the top of other libations, made the whole scene dance
before his bewildered eyes.
He began to see two Moles, and shook his fist, as he thought, upon both
of them at once.
"I d--don't care for either of you," he exclaimed, fiercely.
"Either of us? For me, I suppose you mean?" said the tutor.
"Which are you?" asked Figgins.
"Which are who?" retorted Mole.
"Why, there are two of you, and I wa--want to know which is the right
one," said Figgins.
"I'm the right one. I always am right," said Mole, aggressively. "You
don't dare to imply I'm wrong, do you?"
"Won't say what I imply," answered Figgins, with dignity; "but I know
you to be only a----"
"Stop, stop, gentlemen," cried Jack. "Let not discord interrupt the
harmony of the festive occasion. Mr. Mole, please tone down the
violence of your language. Mr. Figgins, calm your agitation, and give
us a song."
"A song?" interrupted Mr. Mole, taking the request to himself. "Oh,
with pleasure."
And he struck up one of his favourite bacchanalian chants--
"Jolly nose, Jolly nose, Jolly nose!
The bright rubies that garnish thy tip
Are all sprung from the mines of Canary,
Are all sprung----"
"There's no doubt upon their being all sprung anyhow," whispered
Harkaway to Girdwood. "Stop, stop, Mr. Mole," he cried at this
juncture. "It was Mr. Figgins, not you, that we called upon for a
song."
"Was it?" said the schoolmaster. "Very good; beg pardon. Only thought
you'd prefer somebody who could sing. Figgins can't."
Figgins again looked at Mole, as if he were about to fly at him.
But the cry of "A song, a song by Mr. Figgins!" drowned his
remonstrances.
"Really do'no what to sing, ladies and gen'l'men," protested Figgins.
"Stop a minute. I used to know 'My Harp and Flute.'"
"You mean 'My Heart and Lute,' I suppose?" said Jack.
"Yes, that's it. And I should remember the air, if I hadn't forgotten
the words. Let's see. Stop a minute, head's rather queer. Try the water
cure."
Whereupon Mr. Figgins staggered to the adjacent brook, and, kneeling
down, fairly dipped his head into it.
After having wiped himself with a dinner napkin he rejoined the party,
very much refreshed.
"Tell you what, friends, I'll give you a solo on the flute," he said.
"Something lively; 'Dead March in Saul' with variations."
And without mere ado, he took up his favourite instrument, and prepared
to astonish the company.
If Mr. Figgins did not succeed in astonishing the company, he at least
considerably astonished himself, for when he placed the flute to his
lips and gave a vigorous preliminary blow, not only did he fail to
elicit any musical sound, but he smothered and half-blinded himself
with a dense cloud of flour, with which the tube had been entirely
filled.
Bogey and Tinker, as usual, had been the real authors of this new
atrocity, but Figgins felt convinced that the guilt lay at the door of
Mole, on whom he turned for vengeance.
"Villain!" he cried, "this is another of your tricks; it's the last
straw. I'll bear it no longer; take that."
As Mr. Figgins spoke, he struck the venerable Mole a sounding whack
over the bald part of the cranium with the instrument of harmony.
Mole sprang upon his legs with astonishing alacrity, and, seizing
Figgins by the throat, commenced shaking him.
A ferocious struggle ensued, among the remonstrances of the spectators,
but, before they could interfere, it ended by both combatants coming
down heavily and at their full length on the temporary dinner-table,
and thereby breaking not a few plates, bottles, and glasses.
Helped to rise and seated on separate camp-stools, some distance apart,
the two former friends, but now mortal foes, as soon as they could get
their breath, sat fiercely shaking fists and hurling strong adjectives
at each other.
"I'll have it out of you, you old villain!" cried Mole.
"And I'll have it out of you, you old rascal!" shrieked Figgins.
"We'll both have it out," added the tutor, "and the sooner the better.
Name your place and your weapons."
"Here," answered Figgins, pointing to an open space before him, "and my
weapon is the sword."
"And mine's the pistol," said Mole. "I'll fight with that, and you with
your sword."
"Agreed," said the excited Figgins, quite forgetting the
impracticability of such an arrangement and the disadvantages it would
give him.
Figgins had a battered sabre of the light curved, Turkish make, and
Mole rejoiced in the possession of a very old-fashioned pistol.
Mole gave the latter to Girdwood, who volunteered to be his second, and
who took care to put nothing in more dangerous than gunpowder.
"Now we're about to see a duel upon a quite original principle," cried
Jack to his friends. "I don't think either of them can hurt the other
much. I'll be your second, Figgins, my boy."
"All right. I take up my position here," cried the orphan, stationing
himself under a tree near the brook.
"I shall stand here," said Mole, stopping at about half a dozen paces
from him.
The orphan looked as though he intended to bolt behind the tree if Mole
fired.
"Well, Master Harry, don't be in a hurry," said Figgins. "I am not
quite ready, are you, Mr. Mole?"
"Oh yes," said Mole, "I am ready."
He fully intended to blow the orphan's head off the first fire.
"I'll give the signal to fire," said Harry. "Now, are you ready; one,
two, three!"
Mole's pistol-shot reverberated through the copse, but, as, a matter of
course, it did not the slightest harm to Figgins, who, however, thought
he heard it strike against the sabre which he held in a position of
guard.
It now began, for the first time, to strike the orphan that this novel
mode of fighting was very awkward for himself, for how was he to get at
his enemy?
At first he poised his sword as if about to fling it at him, then moved
by a sudden impulse he rushed forward, with a cry of vengeance, and
began attacking Mole furiously with some heavy cutting blows.
Mole, as his only resource, dodged about and caught some of these blows
upon his pistol, but judging this risky work, he took up his stick and
used it in desperate self-defence; thus dodging and parrying, he
retreated while Figgins advanced.
Once Mole managed to get what an Irishman would call "a fair offer" at
Figgins' skull, which accordingly resounded with the blow of his
weapon.
Half stunned, the orphan plunged madly forward and took a far-reaching
aim at the old tutor.
He, in his turn, dodged again, but his wooden legs not being so nimble
as real ones, he stumbled over some tall, thick grass, and fell
backwards into the stream.
Jack, thinking matters had gone far enough, caught the orphan's foot in
a rope, and bent him so far forward that he overbalanced himself and
fell on top of Mole, and both tumbled into the water together.
The alarm was given, and they were both drawn out, "wet as drowned
rats," but not quite so far gone.
They were, however, entirely sobered by their immersion.
A small glass of brandy, however, was administered to each, to prevent
them catching cold, and some of their garments were taken off to dry in
the sun.
Mole, the tutor, and Figgins, the orphan, wearied out with their
exertions, soon fell fast asleep.