CHAPTER LXXIII.
OF THE DEADLY QUARREL AND MORTAL COMBAT BETWEEN MOLE AND FIGGINS.
"One day," began Mr. Figgins, after a pause, "I was driving alongBelgravia Crescent with Lord--bless me! which of 'em was it?"
"Perhaps it was Lord Elpus," suggested Harkaway.
"Or Lord Nozoo?" said Girdwood.
"Are you sure he was a lord at all, Mr. Figgins?" asked Mole,dubiously.
"Mr. Mole," said the orphan, indignantly; "do you doubt my veracity?"
"Not a bit," answered the schoolmaster, "but I doubt the _voracity_ ofyour hearers being sufficient for them to _swallow_ all you are tellingus."
"Well, gentlemen," pursued Figgins, turning from Mole in disgust, "thisLord Whatshisname used to have behind his carriage about the nicestlittle tiger that ever was seen----"
"Nothing like the tiger I saw in Bengal one day, I'm sure," broke inMr. Mole, in a loud and positive tone. "Come, Figgins, I'll bet you tento one on it."
The orphan rose to his feet in great indignation.
"Isaac Mole, Esq., I have borne patiently with injuries almost toogreat for mortal man throughout this day. I consider myself insulted byyou, and I will have satisfaction."
"Well, old boy, if you just mention what will satisfy you, I'll see,"said Mole.
"Nothing short of a full and complete apology."
"You don't get that out of me," the schoolmaster scornfully retorted."Preposterous. What I, Isaac Mole, who took the degree of B. A. at thealmost infantine age of thirty-four, to apologise to one who is----"
"Who is what, sir?" demanded Figgins.
"Never mind. I don't want to use unbecoming expressions," said Mole."You wouldn't like to hear what I was going to say."
The orphan was so angry at this that, unheeding what he was doing, hedrank off nearly a tumblerful of strong sherry at once.
This, coming on the top of other libations, made the whole scene dancebefore his bewildered eyes.
He began to see two Moles, and shook his fist, as he thought, upon bothof them at once.
"I d--don't care for either of you," he exclaimed, fiercely.
"Either of us? For me, I suppose you mean?" said the tutor.
"Which are you?" asked Figgins.
"Which are who?" retorted Mole.
"Why, there are two of you, and I wa--want to know which is the rightone," said Figgins.
"I'm the right one. I always am right," said Mole, aggressively. "Youdon't dare to imply I'm wrong, do you?"
"Won't say what I imply," answered Figgins, with dignity; "but I knowyou to be only a----"
"Stop, stop, gentlemen," cried Jack. "Let not discord interrupt theharmony of the festive occasion. Mr. Mole, please tone down theviolence of your language. Mr. Figgins, calm your agitation, and giveus a song."
"A song?" interrupted Mr. Mole, taking the request to himself. "Oh,with pleasure."
And he struck up one of his favourite bacchanalian chants--
"Jolly nose, Jolly nose, Jolly nose! The bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are all sprung from the mines of Canary, Are all sprung----"
"There's no doubt upon their being all sprung anyhow," whisperedHarkaway to Girdwood. "Stop, stop, Mr. Mole," he cried at thisjuncture. "It was Mr. Figgins, not you, that we called upon for asong."
"Was it?" said the schoolmaster. "Very good; beg pardon. Only thoughtyou'd prefer somebody who could sing. Figgins can't."
Figgins again looked at Mole, as if he were about to fly at him.
But the cry of "A song, a song by Mr. Figgins!" drowned hisremonstrances.
"Really do'no what to sing, ladies and gen'l'men," protested Figgins."Stop a minute. I used to know 'My Harp and Flute.'"
"You mean 'My Heart and Lute,' I suppose?" said Jack.
"Yes, that's it. And I should remember the air, if I hadn't forgottenthe words. Let's see. Stop a minute, head's rather queer. Try the watercure."
Whereupon Mr. Figgins staggered to the adjacent brook, and, kneelingdown, fairly dipped his head into it.
After having wiped himself with a dinner napkin he rejoined the party,very much refreshed.
"Tell you what, friends, I'll give you a solo on the flute," he said."Something lively; 'Dead March in Saul' with variations."
And without mere ado, he took up his favourite instrument, and preparedto astonish the company.
If Mr. Figgins did not succeed in astonishing the company, he at leastconsiderably astonished himself, for when he placed the flute to hislips and gave a vigorous preliminary blow, not only did he fail toelicit any musical sound, but he smothered and half-blinded himselfwith a dense cloud of flour, with which the tube had been entirelyfilled.
Bogey and Tinker, as usual, had been the real authors of this newatrocity, but Figgins felt convinced that the guilt lay at the door ofMole, on whom he turned for vengeance.
"Villain!" he cried, "this is another of your tricks; it's the laststraw. I'll bear it no longer; take that."
As Mr. Figgins spoke, he struck the venerable Mole a sounding whackover the bald part of the cranium with the instrument of harmony.
Mole sprang upon his legs with astonishing alacrity, and, seizingFiggins by the throat, commenced shaking him.
A ferocious struggle ensued, among the remonstrances of the spectators,but, before they could interfere, it ended by both combatants comingdown heavily and at their full length on the temporary dinner-table,and thereby breaking not a few plates, bottles, and glasses.
Helped to rise and seated on separate camp-stools, some distance apart,the two former friends, but now mortal foes, as soon as they could gettheir breath, sat fiercely shaking fists and hurling strong adjectivesat each other.
"I'll have it out of you, you old villain!" cried Mole.
"And I'll have it out of you, you old rascal!" shrieked Figgins.
"We'll both have it out," added the tutor, "and the sooner the better.Name your place and your weapons."
"Here," answered Figgins, pointing to an open space before him, "and myweapon is the sword."
"And mine's the pistol," said Mole. "I'll fight with that, and you withyour sword."
"Agreed," said the excited Figgins, quite forgetting theimpracticability of such an arrangement and the disadvantages it wouldgive him.
Figgins had a battered sabre of the light curved, Turkish make, andMole rejoiced in the possession of a very old-fashioned pistol.
Mole gave the latter to Girdwood, who volunteered to be his second, andwho took care to put nothing in more dangerous than gunpowder.
"Now we're about to see a duel upon a quite original principle," criedJack to his friends. "I don't think either of them can hurt the othermuch. I'll be your second, Figgins, my boy."
"All right. I take up my position here," cried the orphan, stationinghimself under a tree near the brook.
"I shall stand here," said Mole, stopping at about half a dozen pacesfrom him.
The orphan looked as though he intended to bolt behind the tree if Molefired.
"Well, Master Harry, don't be in a hurry," said Figgins. "I am notquite ready, are you, Mr. Mole?"
"Oh yes," said Mole, "I am ready."
He fully intended to blow the orphan's head off the first fire.
"I'll give the signal to fire," said Harry. "Now, are you ready; one,two, three!"
Mole's pistol-shot reverberated through the copse, but, as, a matter ofcourse, it did not the slightest harm to Figgins, who, however, thoughthe heard it strike against the sabre which he held in a position ofguard.
It now began, for the first time, to strike the orphan that this novelmode of fighting was very awkward for himself, for how was he to get athis enemy?
At first he poised his sword as if about to fling it at him, then movedby a sudden impulse he rushed forward, with a cry of vengeance, andbegan attacking Mole furiously with some heavy cutting blows.
Mole, as his only resource, dodged about and caught some of these blowsupon his pistol, but judging this
risky work, he took up his stick andused it in desperate self-defence; thus dodging and parrying, heretreated while Figgins advanced.
Once Mole managed to get what an Irishman would call "a fair offer" atFiggins' skull, which accordingly resounded with the blow of hisweapon.
Half stunned, the orphan plunged madly forward and took a far-reachingaim at the old tutor.
He, in his turn, dodged again, but his wooden legs not being so nimbleas real ones, he stumbled over some tall, thick grass, and fellbackwards into the stream.
Jack, thinking matters had gone far enough, caught the orphan's foot ina rope, and bent him so far forward that he overbalanced himself andfell on top of Mole, and both tumbled into the water together.
The alarm was given, and they were both drawn out, "wet as drownedrats," but not quite so far gone.
They were, however, entirely sobered by their immersion.
A small glass of brandy, however, was administered to each, to preventthem catching cold, and some of their garments were taken off to dry inthe sun.
Mole, the tutor, and Figgins, the orphan, wearied out with theirexertions, soon fell fast asleep.