Amusement Only

"That was mean of her-real mean. And I suppose that, when you were performing these little experiments of yours upon my wife, this room was filled with a large assemblage?"

"We were alone together. I wish, now, it had been otherwise."

"Why?"

"After the questions you have already put to me, that needs no answer."

"Think not? Well, let me fill up your glass for you, Mr. Pownceby."

"I am obliged to you, but must beg you to excuse me."

"Is that so? You don't show yourself so friendly towards me as towards my wife. Perhaps, Mr. Pownceby, you're not aware that for the last two years I've been trotting round the world picking up the pieces to throw into her lap. She's English, and I'm American. She's not at all times fond of me, and we sometimes differ; but I love her, in my way. So you may think that when the first thing I hear, when I come to catch a sight of her after a two years' parting, is this little tale of yours, I find it a pleasing tale entirely. I find it that, I do assure you. Now, the only thing I should like you to do would be to play those little tricks on me which you played upon my wife. I should like to be hypnotised, uncommonly."

"If I were to attempt to do so I don't think that I should succeed. But, in any case, after my experience of this morning, it will be a long time before I make any more experiments on any one."

"Is that so? Think it over, Mr. Pownceby, while I lock this door and slip the key into my pocket."

Mr. Pratt locked the door and "slipped," as he called it, the key into his pocket.

"Mr. Pratt, I insist upon your unlocking that door."

"Mr. Pownceby, I was raised out West, and I was raised fighting, and I learnt to smell a fight when it was coming, and there's as big a fight now coming as ever I yet smelt."

"Why do you use this language, sir, to me?"

"It's my ignorance, may be. But in those parts where I was raised, when one man played upon another man's wife the tricks you've played on mine, it generally ended up in fighting. You bet it's going to end in fighting now." Mr. Pownceby made a movement towards the bell. Mr. Pratt sprang in front of him. "You can ring the bell, sir, afterwards; but first you'll listen to me. They'll have to break the door down to get into this room, and that'll be a scandal; and while they're breaking it down I'll be whipping you. You'd better, take it fighting. I've got a shooter." Putting his hand to his pistol-pocket, Mr. Pratt flashed the barrel of a revolver in Mr. Pownceby's face. "But I know your English notions, and I don't want to use it in a little affair like this. Let's strip to the waist, and clear the furniture out of the middle of the room, and have a little prize-fight all to ourselves."

"Do you take me for a madman, Mr. Pratt? If you don't immediately unlock the door I shall summon assistance, and if you use any violence towards me, I shall give you into the charge of the police."

"Is that your line? That's mine!"

Dropping the hand which held the revolver, Mr. Pratt delivered with his left. Delivered so neatly, in the centre of Mr. Pownceby's forehead, that that gentleman was hurled backwards on to the floor.

"If you like you can take it lying down, and you can summon assistance while you are taking it; but you'll take it somehow-that you bet."

Mr. Pownceby, lying on the floor, looked up at Mr. Pratt standing over him.

"Let me get up." He got up. The blow had cut the skin, and the blood was trickling through. With his handkerchief he staunched the flow. "In America, Mr. Pratt, they may think the sort of thing that you propose heroic. In England they consider a row of any sort ridiculous."

"Consider! It isn't what they consider I'm thinking of, it's how you're going to take it."

Mr. Pownceby fixed his glance on Mr. Pratt's keen black eyes. He smiled.

"Take it? I'll take it fighting, like the converter of Colonel Quagg!"

"I thought you would. I smelt it coming on."

As he spoke Mr. Pratt placed his revolver on the mantelshelf. Mr. Pownceby was still smiling.

"Do you propose to settle it now?"

"I do. I propose to settle it before you leave this room."

"In that case don't you think we'd better pull the blind down, or people walking on the terrace will be able to see the fun? If we are going to make asses of ourselves, we may as well do it, as far as possible, in private."

Mr. Pratt pulled the blind down. The sun was shining outside. The room was still quite light.

"I guess," said Mr. Pratt, "we had better clear the furniture out of the middle of the room."

Mr. Pownceby assisted him in doing so, what little there was to clear. The bottle of champagne and the two glasses they placed with the revolver on the mantelshelf. They then proceeded to strip. As they were doing so Mr. Pownceby asked a question.

"How shall we manage about time?"

"We will call time when we feel we want it. You understand, this is not only a fight; it's a whipping. I'm whipping you."

Mr. Pownceby smiled as he answered: "I understand exactly."

When they were in position there was not much, so far as appearance went, for a lover of the "fancy" to choose between the two. Now that they were peeled, both seemed thoroughly fit-as fit almost as though they had been trained. Mr. Pownceby was fair, Mr. Pratt was dark; that was about the only difference. Both would have turned the scale at something near eleven stone, and both measured something under five foot eight. Nor did it take long to show that both could use their hands. There was none of that waiting for each other which so often tries the patience of the spectators round a ring. Mr. Pratt came at once to business; with, perhaps, rather too much self-confidence. He was apparently under the impression that it was going to be a case of whipping his opponent from the first; which was the reason, doubtless, that Mr. Pownceby succeeded in returning the compliment which had been paid himself, and landing Mr. Pratt upon his back. That gentleman seemed surprised.

"I say," he asked, lying where he had fallen, "what's this?"

Mr. Pownceby replied politely: "I hope I haven't hurt you?"

"You haven't hurt me-much. You've surprised me-more. I reckon we'll continue."

The proceedings recommenced. But this time Mr. Pratt had changed his tactics. Instead of coming up with the apparent intention of wiping his opponent off the face of the earth with a single blow, he played his game more cautiously. He fenced; but, becoming tired of this, and feeling possibly that the whipping was not proceeding fast enough, he led off with his right, and followed on with his left, and Mr. Pownceby countered and returned-returned with such effect that for half a minute Mr. Pratt was dancing about while Mr. Pownceby was performing on him much in the fashion which the regimental drummer beats to quarters on his drum.

"Time!" he cried.

The round was over. A pause ensued, during which his feelings were plainly too deep for words.

"Have you ever had a whipping before?" he asked.

Mr. Pownceby smiled; it was evident that his smile was a smile of enjoyment at last.

"One or two," he said.

"Like this?"

"Not exactly. In England we don't, as a rule, indulge in this form of amusement in the private sitting-room of an hotel."

"Don't you? Well, it's as well. I smelt that a big fight was coming, and it's come. I'm going to enjoy myself entirely. You've closed up one of my eyes, I should say, from the feel of it, for ever. You've broken the bridge of my nose; what there'll be to pay for the blood upon the carpet-there's a quart gone from me already-is more than I quite care to think. Before I've finished whipping you I reckon I'll be slain."

"Come, Mr. Pratt, don't you think this foolish business had better cease? If you require an apology I am willing to tender one in any form you like. What passed between your wife and myself was simply in the nature of a little scientific experiment."

"It'll be in the nature of a little scientific experiment what's going to pass between us too. I'm fond of experiments as well as you. Time!"

Mr. Pratt fell into position. He struck at Mr. Pownceby. Mr. Pownceby laughed as he warded off the blow.