Part 3 (1/2)
”Good! Then we must go the `whole hog' in your favour. I have put in for the first lieutenancy, so we won't run foul of each other. Let us `hitch teams'.”
”With all my heart,” said I.
”You came in with that long-bearded hunter. Is he your friend?”
”He is.”
”Then I can tell you that among these fellows he's a `whole team, and a cross dog under the waggon' to boot. See him! he's at it already.”
I had noticed Lincoln in conversation with several leather-legging gentry like himself, whom I knew from their costume and appearance to be backwoodsmen. All at once these saturnine characters commenced moving about the room, and entering into conversation with men whom they had not hitherto deigned to notice.
”They are canva.s.sing,” said Clayley.
Lincoln, brus.h.i.+ng past, whispered in my ear, ”Cap'n, I understan' these hyur critters better'n you kin. Yer must mix among 'em--mix and licker--thet's the idee.”
”Good advice,” said Clayley; ”but if you could only take the s.h.i.+ne out of that fellow at fencing, the thing's done at once. By Jove! I think you might do it, Haller!”
”I have made up my mind to try, at all events.”
”Not until the last day--a few hours before the election.”
”You are right. It would be better to wait; I shall take your advice.
In the meantime let us follow that of Lincoln--`mix and licker'.”
”Ha! ha!” laughed Clayley; ”let us come, boys,” he added, turning to a very thirsty-looking group, ”let's all take a `smile'. Here, _Captain_ Haller! allow me to introduce you;” and the next moment I was introduced to a crowd of very seedy-looking gentlemen, and the moment after we were clinking gla.s.ses, and chatting as familiarly as if we had been friends of forty years' standing.
During the next three days the enrolment continued, and the canva.s.s was kept up with energy. The election was to take place on the evening of the fourth.
Meanwhile my dislike for my rival had been strengthened by closer observation; and, as is general in such cases, the feeling was reciprocal.
On the afternoon of the day in question we stood before each other, foil in hand, both of us nerved by an intense, though as yet _unspoken_, enmity. This had been observed by most of the spectators, who approached and formed a circle around us; all of them highly interested in the result--which, they knew, would be an index to the election.
The room was an armoury, and all kinds of weapons for military practice were kept in it. Each had helped himself to his foil. One of the weapons was without a b.u.t.ton, and sharp enough to be dangerous in the hands of an angry man. I noticed that my antagonist had chosen this one.
”Your foil is not in order; it has lost the b.u.t.ton, has it not?” I observed.
”Ah! monsieur, pardon. I did not perceive that.”
”A strange oversight,” muttered Clayley, with a significant glance.
The Frenchman returned the imperfect foil, and took another.
”Have you a choice, monsieur?” I inquired.
”No, thank you; I am satisfied.”
By this time every person in the rendezvous had come up, and waited with breathless anxiety. We stood face to face, more like two men about to engage in deadly duel than a pair of amateurs with blunt foils. My antagonist was evidently a practised swordsman. I could see that as he came to guard. As for myself, the small-sword exercise had been a foible of my college days, and for years I had not met my match at it; but just then I was out of practice.