The Duel That Was Not Fought
Patsy Tulligan was not as wise as seven owls, but his courage couldthrow a shadow as long as the steeple of a cathedral. There were men onCherry Street who had whipped him five times, but they all knew thatPatsy would be as ready for the sixth time as if nothing had happened.Once he and two friends had been away up on Eighth Avenue, far out oftheir country, and upon their return journey that evening they stoppedfrequently in saloons until they were as independent of theirsurroundings as eagles, and cared much less about thirty days onBlackwell's.On Lower Sixth Avenue they paused in a saloon where there was a gooddeal of lamp-glare and polished wood to be seen from the outside, andwithin, the mellow light shone on much furbished brass and more polishedwood. It was a better saloon than they were in the habit of seeing, butthey did not mind it. They sat down at one of the little tables thatwere in a row parallel to the bar and ordered beer. They blinkedstolidly at the decorations, the bartender, and the other customers.When anything transpired they discussed it with dazzling frankness, andwhat they said of it was as free as air to the other people in theplace.At midnight there were few people in the saloon. Patsy and his friendsstill sat drinking. Two well-dressed men were at another table, smokingcigars slowly and swinging back in their chairs. They occupiedthemselves with themselves in the usual manner, never betraying by awink of an eyelid that they knew that other folk existed. At anothertable directly behind Patsy and his companions was a slim little Cuban,with miraculously small feet and hands, and with a youthful touch ofdown upon his lip. As he lifted his cigarette from time to time hislittle finger was bended in dainty fashion, and there was a green flashwhen a huge emerald ring caught the light. The bartender came often withhis little brass tray. Occasionally Patsy and his two friendsquarrelled.Once this little Cuban happened to make some slight noise and Patsyturned his head to observe him. Then Patsy made a careless and ratherloud comment to his two friends. He used a word which is no more thanpassing the time of day down in Cherry Street, but to the Cuban it was adagger-point. There was a harsh scraping sound as a chair was pushedswiftly back.The little Cuban was upon his feet. His eyes were shining with a ragethat flashed there like sparks as he glared at Patsy. His olive face hadturned a shade of grey from his anger. Withal his chest was thrust outin portentous dignity, and his hand, still grasping his wine-glass, wascool and steady, the little finger still bended, the great emeraldgleaming upon it. The others, motionless, stared at him."Sir," he began ceremoniously. He spoke gravely and in a slow way, histone coming in a marvel of self-possessed cadences from between thoselips which quivered with wrath. "You have insult me. You are a dog, ahound, a cur. I spit upon you. I must have some of your blood."Patsy looked at him over his shoulder."What's th' matter wi' che?" he demanded. He did not quite understandthe words of this little man who glared at him steadily, but he knewthat it was something about fighting. He snarled with the readiness ofhis class and heaved his shoulders contemptuously. "Ah, what's eatin'yeh? Take a walk! You hain't got nothin' t' do with me, have yeh? Well,den, go sit on yerself."And his companions leaned back valorously in their chairs, andscrutinized this slim young fellow who was addressing Patsy."What's de little Dago chewin' about?""He wants t' scrap!""What!"The Cuban listened with apparent composure. It was only when theylaughed that his body cringed as if he was receiving lashes. Presentlyhe put down his glass and walked over to their table. He proceededalways with the most impressive deliberation."Sir," he began again. "You have insult me. I must have s-s-satisfac-shone. I must have your body upon the point of my sword. In my countryyou would already be dead. I must have s-s-satisfac-shone."Patsy had looked at the Cuban with a trifle of bewilderment. But at lasthis face began to grow dark with belligerency, his mouth curved in thatwide sneer with which he would confront an angel of darkness. He arosesuddenly in his seat and came towards the little Cuban. He was going tobe impressive too."Say, young feller, if yeh go shootin' off yer face at me, I'll wipe d'joint wid yeh. What'cher gaffin' about, hey? Are yeh givin' me er jolly?Say, if yeh pick me up fer a cinch, I'll fool yeh. Dat's what! Don'ttake me fer no dead easy mug." And as he glowered at the little Cuban,he ended his oration with one eloquent word, "Nit!"The bartender nervously polished his bar with a towel, and kept his eyesfastened upon the men. Occasionally he became transfixed with interest,leaning forward with one hand upon the edge of the bar and the otherholding the towel grabbed in a lump, as if he had been turned intobronze when in the very act of polishing.The Cuban did not move when Patsy came toward him and delivered hisoration. At its conclusion he turned his livid face toward where, abovehim, Patsy was swaggering and heaving his shoulders in a consummatedisplay of bravery and readiness. The Cuban, in his clear, tense tones,spoke one word. It was the bitter insult. It seemed fairly to spin fromhis lips and crackle in the air like breaking glass.Every man save the little Cuban made an electric movement. Patsy roareda black oath and thrust himself forward until he towered almost directlyabove the other man. His fists were doubled into knots of bone and hardflesh. The Cuban had raised a steady finger."If you touch me wis your hand, I will keel you."The two well-dressed men had come swiftly, uttering protesting cries.They suddenly intervened in this second of time in which Patsy hadsprung forward and the Cuban had uttered his threat. The four men werenow a tossing, arguing; violent group, one well-dressed man lecturingthe Cuban, and the other holding off Patsy, who was now wild with rage,loudly repeating the Cuban's threat, and maneuvering and struggling toget at him for revenge's sake.The bartender, feverishly scouring away with his towel, and at timespacing to and fro with nervous and excited tread, shouted out--"Say, for heaven's sake, don't fight in here. If yeh wanta fight, go outin the street and fight all yeh please. But don't fight in here."Patsy knew one only thing, and this he kept repeating:"Well, he wants t' scrap! I didn't begin dis! He wants t' scrap."The well-dressed man confronting him continually replied--"Oh, well, now, look here, he's only a lad. He don't know what he'sdoing. He's crazy mad. You wouldn't slug a kid like that."Patsy and his aroused companions, who cursed and growled, werepersistent with their argument. "Well, he wants t' scrap!" The wholeaffair was as plain as daylight when one saw this great fact. Theinterference and intolerable discussion brought the three of themforward, battleful and fierce."What's eatin' you, anyhow?" they demanded. "Dis ain't your business, isit? What business you got shootin' off your face?"The other peacemaker was trying to restrain the little Cuban, who hadgrown shrill and violent."If he touch me wis his hand I will keel him. We must fight likegentlemen or else I keel him when he touch me wis his hand."The man who was fending off Patsy comprehended these sentences that werescreamed behind his back, and he explained to Patsy."But he wants to fight you with swords. With swords, you know."The Cuban, dodging around the peacemakers, yelled in Patsy's face--"Ah, if I could get you before me wis my sword! Ah! Ah! A-a-ah!" Patsymade a furious blow with a swift fist, but the peacemakers buckedagainst his body suddenly like football players.Patsy was greatly puzzled. He continued doggedly to try to get nearenough to the Cuban to punch him. To these attempts the Cuban repliedsavagely--"If you touch me wis your hand, I will cut your heart in two piece."At last Patsy said--"Well, if he's so dead stuck on fightin' wid swords,I'll fight 'im. Soitenly! I'll fight 'im." All this palaver hadevidently tired him, and he now puffed out his lips with the air of aman who is willing to submit to any conditions if he can only bring onthe row soon enough. He swaggered, "I'll fight 'im wid swords. Let 'imbring on his swords, an' I'll fight 'im 'til he's ready t' quit."The two well-dressed men grinned. "Why, look here," they said to Patsy,"he'd punch you full of holes. Why he's a fencer. You can't fight himwith swords. He'd kill you in 'bout a minute.""Well, I'll giv' 'im a go at it, anyhow," said Patsy, stouthearted andresolute. "I'll giv' 'im a go at it, anyhow, an' I'll stay wid 'im aslong as I kin."As for the Cuban, his lithe body was quivering in an ecstasy of themuscles. His face radiant with a savage joy, he fastened his glance uponPatsy, his eyes gleaming with a gloating, murderous light. A mostunspeakable, animal-like rage was in his expression."Ah! ah! He will fight me! Ah!" He bended unconsciously in the postureof a fencer. He had all the quick, springy movements of a skilfulswordsman. "Ah, the b-r-r-rute! The b-r-r-rute! I will stick him like apig!"The two peacemakers, still grinning broadly, were having a great timewith Patsy."Why, you infernal idiot, this man would slice you all up. You betterjump off the bridge if you want to commit suicide. You wouldn't stand aghost of a chance to live ten seconds."Patsy was as unshaken as granite. "Well, if he wants t' fight widswords, he'll get it. I'll giv' 'im a go at it, anyhow."One man said--"Well, have you got a sword? Do you know what a sword is?Have you got a sword?""No, I ain't got none," said Patsy honestly, "but I kin git one." Thenhe added valiantly--"An' quick, too."The two men laughed. "Why, can't you understand it would be sure deathto fight a sword duel with this fellow?""Dat's all right! See? I know me own business. If he wants t' fight oneof dees d--n duels, I'm in it, understan'""Have you ever fought one, you fool?""No, I ain't. But I will fight one, dough! I ain't no muff. If he wantst' fight a duel, by Gawd, I'm wid 'im! D'yeh understan' dat!" Patsycocked his hat and swaggered. He was getting very serious.The little Cuban burst out--"Ah, come on, sirs: come on! We can takecab. Ah, you big cow, I will stick you, I will stick you. Ah, you willlook very beautiful, very beautiful. Ah, come on, sirs. We will stop athotel--my hotel. I there have weapons.""Yeh will, will yeh? Yeh bloomin' little black Dago!" cried Patsy inhoarse and maddened reply to the personal part of the Cuban's speech. Hestepped forward. "Git yer d--n swords," he commanded. "Git yer swords.Git 'em quick! I'll fight wi' che! I'll fight wid anyt'ing, too! See?I'll fight yeh wid a knife an' fork if yeh say so! I'll fight yerstandin' up er sittin' down!" Patsy delivered this intense oration withsweeping, intensely emphatic gestures, his hands stretched outeloquently, his jaw thrust forward, his eyes glaring."Ah!" cried the little Cuban joyously. "Ah, you are in very prettytemper. Ah, how I will cut your heart in two piece, my dear, d-e-a-rfriend." His eyes, too, shone like carbuncles, with a swift, changingglitter, always fastened upon Patsy's face.The two peacemakers were perspiring and in despair. One of them blurtedout--"Well, I'll be blamed if this ain't the most ridiculous thing I eversaw."The other said--"For ten dollars I'd be tempted to let these twoinfernal blockheads have their duel."Patsy was strutting to and fro, and conferring grandly with his friends."He took me for a muff. He t'ought he was goin' t' bluff me out, talkin''bout swords. He'll get fooled." He addressed the Cuban--"You're a finelittle dirty picter of a scrapper, ain't che? I'll chew yez up, dat'swhat I will!"There began then some rapid action. The patience of well-dressed men isnot an eternal thing. It began to look as if it would at last be a fightwith six corners to it. The faces of the men were shining red withanger. They jostled each other defiantly, and almost every one blazedout at three or four of the others. The bartender had given upprotesting. He swore for a time and banged his glasses. Then he jumpedthe bar and ran out of the saloon, cursing sullenly.When he came back with a policeman, Patsy and the Cuban were preparingto depart together. Patsy was delivering his last oration--"I'll fight yer wid swords! Sure I will! Come ahead, Dago! I'll fightyeh anywheres wid anyt'ing! We'll have a large, juicy scrap, an' don'tyeh forgit dat! I'm right wid yez. I ain't no muff! I scrap with a manjest as soon as he ses scrap, an' if yeh wanta scrap, I'm yer kitten.Understan' dat?"The policeman said sharply--"Come, now; what's all this?" He had adistinctly business air.The little Cuban stepped forward calmly. "It is none of your business."The policeman flushed to his ears. "What?"One well-dressed man touched the other on the sleeve. "Here's the timeto skip," he whispered. They halted a block away from the saloon andwatched the policeman pull the Cuban through the door. There was aminute of scuffle on the sidewalk, and into this deserted street atmidnight fifty people appeared at once as if from the sky to watch it.At last the three Cherry Hill men came from the saloon, and swaggeredwith all their old valor toward the peacemakers."Ah," said Patsy to them, "he was so hot talkin' about this duelbusiness, but I would a-given 'im a great scrap, an' don't yeh forgitit."For Patsy was not as wise as seven owls, but his courage could throw ashadow as long as the steeple of a cathedral.
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