Introducing Mr. Tawnish, and What Befell at The Chequers

"Egad," says I, "but I've a great mind to call 'out' the bully myself."

"Pooh!" says Bentley, "the fellow's a past master at either weapon."

"If you will remember, there was a time when I was accounted no mean performer either, Bentley."

"Pooh!" says Bentley, "leave it to a younger man--myself, for instance."

"Why, there is but a month or two betwixt us," says I.

"Six months and four days," says he in his dogged fashion; "besides," he went on, argumentatively, "should it come to small-swords, you are a good six inches shorter in the reach than Raikes; now as for me--"

"You!" says I, "Should it come to pistols you could not help but stop a bullet with your vast bulk."

Hereupon Bentley must needs set himself to prove that a big man offered no better target than a more diminutive one, all of which was of course but the purest folly, as I very plainly showed him, whereat he fell a-whistling of the song "Lillibuleero" (as is his custom ever, when at all hipped or put out in any way). And so we presently came to the cross-roads. Now it has been our custom for the past twelve years to finish the day with a game of picquet with our old friend Jack Chester, so that it had become quite an institution, so to speak. What was our surprise then to see Jack himself upon his black mare, waiting for us beneath the finger-post. That he was in one of his passions was evident from the acute angle of his hat and wig, and as we approached we could hear him swearing to himself.