“Oh, Mr. West!” cried Patsy, horrified by such a statement.

“Eh?  Blood?” said Bill, stupefied by the suggestion.

“Of course,” returned West.  “You mustn’t thrash Mr. Weldon; you must kill him.”

A delighted chorus of approval came from Sizer’s supporters.

“All right, then,” said the bully, glaring around, “I—­I’ll kill the scandler!”

“Hold on!” counselled West, seizing his arm.  “This affair must be conducted properly—­otherwise the law might cause us trouble.  No murder, mind you.  You must kill Weldon in a duel.”

“A—­a what?  A duel!” gasped Sizer.

“To be sure.  That’s the way to be revenged.  Hetty,” he added, turning to the artist, who alone of the observers had smiled instead of groaned at the old gentleman’s startling suggestion, “will you kindly run up to my rooms and get a red leather case that lies under the shell cabinet?  Thank you, my dear.”

Hetty was off like a flash.  During her absence an intense silence pervaded the office, broken only by an occasional hiccough from one of Mr. Sizer’s guests.  Patsy was paralyzed with horror and had fallen back into her chair to glare alternately at Bob West and the big bully who threatened her cousin’s husband.  Arthur was pale and stern as he fixed a reproachful gaze on the hardware merchant.  From Miss Briggs’ little room could be heard the steady click-click of the telegraph instrument.

But the furious arrival of the Sizer party had aroused every inhabitant of Millville and with one accord they dropped work and rushed to the printing office.  By this time the windows were dark with groups of eager faces that peered wonderingly through the screens—­the sashes being up—­and listened to the conversation within.

While Hetty was gone not a word was spoken, but the artist was absent only a brief time.  Presently she reentered and laid the red leather case on the table before Bob West.  The hardware man at once opened it, displaying a pair of old-fashioned dueling pistols, with long barrels and pearl handles.  There was a small can of powder, some bullets and wadding in the case, and as West took up one of the pistols and proceeded to load it he said in an unconcerned voice: 

“I once got these from an officer in Vienna, and they have been used in more than a score of duels, I was told.  One of the pistols—­I can’t tell which it is—­has killed a dozen men, so you are going to fight with famous weapons.”

Both Arthur and Bill Sizer, as well as the groups at the window, watched the loading of the pistols with fascinated gaze.

“Bob’s a queer ol’ feller,” whispered Peggy McNutt to the blacksmith, who stood beside him.  “This dool is just one o’ his odd fancies.  Much he keers ef they kills each other er not!”

“Mr. West,” cried Patsy, suddenly rousing from her apathy, “I’ll not allow this shameful thing!  A duel is no better than murder, and I’m sure there is a law against it.”