and graceful, the Sergeant balanced upon stockinged feet,
cunning, swift and throbbing with vigorous strength. Now as their play
became closer it seemed that the weapons were part of themselves, this
darting, twining steel seemed instinct with life and foreknowledge as
lightning thrust was met by lightning parry; while the Colonel, craning
forward in his chair, cursed rapturously under his breath, snorted and
wriggled ecstatic. It was a long, close rally ending in a sudden
grinding flurry of pliant blades followed by a swift and deadly lunge
from the Sergeant met by an almost miraculous riposte, and he stepped
back to shake his head and smile; while the Colonel slapped his thigh
and roared for pure joy of it.

"Sir," said the Sergeant, "'tis me is sluggish it seems! Clean through
my sword-arm!"

"Faith, Zeb, I saw it coming in time."

"Joy!" cried the Colonel, sprinkling himself copiously with snuff, "O
man Jack 'tis a delight t' the eye, a balm t' the soul, a comfort t'
the heart! Rabbit me, Jack, Sergeant Zeb is improved out o' knowledge."

"Aye, George, Zeb is an apt pupil. Come again, Sergeant."

At this moment the door opened and the Viscount lounged in, but seeing
what was toward, seated himself on a corner of the desk as the foils
rang together again. Before the next venue was decided the Colonel was
on his legs with excitement and the Viscount's languor was forgotten
quite, for, despite their buttoned foils, they fought with a grim yet
joyous ferocity, as if death itself had hung upon the issue. Their
blades whirled and clashed, or grinding lightly together seemed to feel
out and sense each other's attack; followed cunning feints, vicious
thrust or lunge and dexterous parry until, at last, the Major stepped
back and lowered his point:

"'Tis your hit, Zeb--here on my wrist!"

"Why 'twas scarce a hit, your honour."

"Most palpable, Zeb!"

"Gad love me!" murmured the Viscount, "and they don't sweat and they
ain't panting!"

"Music!" snorted the Colonel, bestriding his chair again, "poetry,
pictures--bah! Here you have 'em all together! A fine 'ooman's a
graceful sight I'll allow, but sirs, for beauty and music, poetry and
grace all in one, give me a couple o' well-matched small-sworders!"

"Parfectly, sir!" bowed the Viscount. "Though, nunky, if I may venture
the remark and with all the deference in the world, your play is
perhaps a trifle austere--lacking those small elegancies and delicate