STRANGE GENTLEMAN: [Takes a letter from his pocket.] Here's an illegal death-warrant; a pressing invitation to be slaughtered; a polite request just to step out and be killed, thrust into my hand by some disguised assassin in a dirty black calico jacket the very instant I got out of the gig at the door. I know the hand. There's a ferocious recklessness in the cross to this "T" and a baleful malignity in the dot of that "i" which warns me that it comes from my desperate rival. [Opens it and reads.] "Mr. Horatio Tinkles"--that's him--"presents his compliments to his enemy"--that's me--"and requests the pleasure of his company tomorrow morning under the clump of trees on Corpse Common"--Corpse Common!--"to which any of the town's people will direct him and where he hopes to have the satisfaction of giving him his gruel."--Giving him his gruel! Ironical cut-throat!--"His punctuality will be esteemed a personal favour, as it will save Mr. Tinkles the trouble and inconvenience of calling with a horsewhip in his pocket. Mr. Tinkles has ordered breakfast at the Royal for one It is paid for. The individual who returns alive can eat it. Pistols--half past five--precisely." Bloodthirsty miscreant! The individual who returns alive! I've seen him hit the painted man at the shooting-gallery regularly every time in his center shirt plait, except when he varied the entertainments by lodging the ball playfully in his left eye. Breakfast! I shall want nothing beyond the gruel. What's to be done? Escape! I can't escape. Concealment's of no use. He knows I'm here. He has dodged me all the way from London and will dodge me all the way to the residence of Miss Emily Brown, whom my respected but swine-headed parents have picked out for my future wife. I can only assume this Salamander is her accepted lover. What can be done? Nothing! I must undergo this fiery ordeal and submit to be packed up and carried back to my weeping parents like an unfortunate buck with a flat piece of lead in my head and a brief epitaph on my breast, "Killed on Wednesday morning." No, I won't. I won't submit to it. I'll accept the challenge, but first I'll write an anonymous letter to the local authorities, giving them information of this intended duel, and desiring them to place me under immediate restraint. That's feasible. On further consideration, it's capital. My character will be saved--I shall be bound over--he'll be bound over--I shall resume my journey--reach the house--marry the girl--pocket the fortune--and laugh at him. No time to be lost; it shall be done forthwith!