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."
"I sha'n't hurt the Barone," smiling faintly.
"Are you going to be ass enough to pop your gun in the air?" indignantly.
Abbott shrugged; and the colonel cursed himself for the guiltiest
scoundrel unhung.
Half an hour later the opponents stood at each end of the tennis-court.
Ellicott, the surgeon, had laid open his medical case. He was the most
agitated of the five men. His fingers shook as he spread out the lints and
bandages. The colonel and Courtlandt had solemnly gone through the
formality of loading the weapons. The sun had not climbed over the eastern
summits, but the snow on the western tops was rosy.
"At the word three, gentlemen, you will fire," said the colonel.
The two shots came simultaneously. Abbott had deliberately pointed his
into the air. For a moment he stood perfectly still; then, his knees
sagged, and he toppled forward on his face.