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SMITH: Ready. CULKINS: Ready. The blood of the Culkinses is aroused! SECOND: One, Two, Three fire! Culkins's pistol didn't go off. Smith didn't fire. "That was generous in Smith not to fire," said a second. "It was inDADE," said Culkins; "I did not think it of the low-lived scoundrel!" The word was again given. Crack went both pistols simultaneously.
The boy's master, the gentleman who occupied the office across the hall, here interfered, pulled Mr. Culkins off, thrust him gently against the wall, and slightly choked him. Mr. He obtained a small horsewhip and tore furiously through the town, on the lookout for Smith.
This, after a bitter discussion, was granted. He urged his seconds to place him facing towards the town, so that the lights would be in his favour. This was done without any trouble, the immense benefits of that position not being discovered by Smith's second. "If I fall," said Culkins to his second, "see me respectably buried and forward bill to Connaught. Believe me, it will be cashed."
Seconds and a surgeon were selected, and we are mortified to state that at 10 o'clock in the evening Scanton's Bottom was desecrated with a regular duel. The frantic glee of Culkins when he learned his challenge had been accepted can't be described. Our pen can't do it a pig-pen couldn't. He wrote a long letter to his uncle in New York, and to his father in Connaught.
The boy who was employed in the office directly across the hall used to go to the Irishman's door and stick his ear to the key-hole with a view to drinking in the gushing melody by the quart or perhaps pailful. This vexed Mr. Culkins, and considerably marred the pleasure of the thing, as witness the following: "O come to me when daylight sets. Sweet, then come to me!
The smoke slowly cleared away, and the principals were discovered standing stock-still. The silence and stillness for a moment were awful. No one moved. Soon Smith was seen to reel and then to slowly fall. His second and the surgeon rushed to him. Culkins made a tremendous effort to fly from the field, but was restrained by his seconds.
While this was being done, the surgeon, by the light of a dark lantern, arranged his instruments, which consisted of 1 common hand-saw, 1 hatchet, 1 butcher knife, a large variety of smaller knives, and a small mountain of old rag. Neither of the principals exhibited any fear. Culkins insisted that, as the challenging party, he had the right to the word fire.
He sent Smith a challenge, couched in language so scathingly hot that it burnt holes through the paper, and when it reached Smith it was riddled like an old-fashioned milk-strainer. No notice was taken of the challenge, and Culkins' wrath became absolutely terrific. He wrote handbills, which he endeavoured to have printed, posting Smith as a coward.
"Before Culkins answers that," said a smothered voice in the little room, "tell me who yez are." "Friends your seconds!" "Gintlemin, Culkins is here. The last of the Culkinses is under the bed." He was dragged out. "I hope," he said, "the ignoble wretch is not dead, but I call you to witness, gintlemen, that he grossly insulted me." Ed. He was persuaded to retire.
Here a heart-rending groan came from Smith, and Culkins, with a Donnybrook shriek, burst from his seconds, knocked over the doctor's lantern, and fled towards the town like greased lightning amidst a chorus of excited voices. "Hold him!" "Stop him!" "Grab him by the coat-tails!" "Shoot him!" "Head him off!" And half of the party started after him at an express-train rate.
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