Part 32 (2/2)
The colonel's eyes bulged. ”Dem it, why didn't the young fool tell me?”
”Your hurry probably rattled him. But what are we going to do? I'm not going to have the boy hurt. I love him as a brother; though, just now, he regards me as a mortal enemy. Perhaps I am,” moodily. ”I have deceived him, and somehow--blindly it is true--he knows it. I am as full of deceit as a pomegranate is of seeds.”
”Have him send another apology.”
”The Barone is thoroughly enraged. He would refuse to accept it, and said so.”
”Well, dem me for a well-meaning meddler!”
”With pleasure, but that will not stop the row. There is a way out, but it appeals to me as d.a.m.nably low.”
”Oh, Abbott will not run. He isn't that kind.”
”No, he'll not run. But if you will agree with me, honor may be satisfied without either of them getting hurt.”
”Women beat the devil, don't they? What's your plan?”
Courtlandt outlined it.
The colonel frowned. ”That doesn't sound like you. Beastly trick.”
”I know it.”
”We'll lunch first. It will take a few pegs to get that idea through this bally head of mine.”
When Abbott came over later that day, he was subdued in manner. He laughed occasionally, smoked a few cigars, but declined stimulants. He even played a game of tennis creditably. And after dinner he shot a hundred billiards.
The colonel watched his hands keenly. There was not the slightest indication of nerves.
”Hang the boy!” he muttered. ”I ought to be ashamed of myself. There isn't a bit of funk in his whole make-up.”
At nine Abbott retired. He did not sleep very well. He was irked by the morbid idea that the Barone was going to send the bullet through his throat. He was up at five. He strolled about the garden. He realized that it was very good to be alive. Once he gazed somberly at the little white villa, away to the north. How crisply it stood out against the dark foliage! How blue the water was! And far, far away the serene snowcaps!
Nora Harrigan ... Well, he was going to stand up like a man. She should never be ashamed of her memory of him. If he went out, all worry would be at an end, and that would be something. What a mess he had made of things!
He did not blame the Italian. A duel! he, the son of a man who had invented wash-tubs, was going to fight a duel! He wanted to laugh; he wanted to cry. Wasn't he just dreaming? Wasn't it all a nightmare out of which he would presently awake?
”Breakfast, Sahib,” said Rao, deferentially touching his arm.
He was awake; it was all true.
”You'll want coffee,” began the colonel. ”Drink as much as you like. And you'll find the eggs good, too.” The colonel wanted to see if Abbott ate well.
The artist helped himself twice and drank three cups of coffee. ”You know, I suppose all men in a hole like this have funny ideas. I was just thinking that I should like a partridge and a bottle of champagne.”
”We'll have that for tiffin,” said the colonel, confidentially. In fact, he summoned the butler and gave the order.
”It's mighty kind of you, Colonel, to buck me up this way.”
”Rot!” The colonel experienced a slight heat in his leathery cheeks. ”All you've got to do is to hold your arm out straight, pull the trigger, and squint afterward.”
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