“We’ll fight fair,” said he, his lips wetting.

“Very good,” said I, “if you are still accustomed to this hasty manner.  You have not asked my name, my standing, nor my reasons for wanting Mr. Temple.”

I know not whether it was what I said that made him stare, or how I said it.

“Pistols, if you like,” said he.

“No,” said I; “I am in a hurry to find Mr. Temple.  I fought you this way once, and it’s quicker.”

“You fought me this way once?” he repeated.  The noise of the crowd was hushed, and they drew nearer to hear.

“Come, Mr. Jackson,” said I, “you are a lawyer and a gentleman, and so am I. I do not care to be beaten to a pulp, but I am not afraid of you.  And I am in a hurry.  If you will step back into the tavern, I will explain to you my reasons for wishing to get to Mr. Temple.”

Mr. Jackson stared at me the more.

“By the eternal,” said he, “you are a cool man.  Give me my coat,” he shouted to the bystanders, and they helped him on with it.  “Now,” said he, as they made to follow him, “keep back.  I would talk to this gentleman.  By the heavens,” he cried, when he had gained the room, “I believe you are not afraid of me.  I saw it in your eyes.”

Then I laughed.

“Mr. Jackson,” said I, “doubtless you do not remember a homeless boy named David whom you took to your uncle’s house in the Waxhaws—­”

“I do,” he exclaimed, “as I live I do.  Why, we slept together.”

“And you stumped your toe getting into bed and swore,” said I.

At that he laughed so heartily that the landlord came running across the room.

“And we fought together at the Old Fields School.  Are you that boy?” and he scanned me again.  “By God, I believe you are.”  Suddenly his face clouded once more.

“But what about Temple?” said he.

“Ah,” I answered, “I come to that quickly.  Mr. Temple is my cousin.  After I left your uncle’s house my father took me to Charlestown.”

“Is he a Charlestown Temple?” demanded Mr. Jackson.  “For I spent some time gambling and horse-racing with the gentry there, and I know many of them.  I was a wild lad” (I repeat his exact words), “and I ran up a bill in Charlestown that would have filled a folio volume.  Faith, all I had left me was the clothes on my back and a good horse.  I made up my mind one night that if I could pay my debts and get out of Charlestown I would go into the back country and study law and sober down.  There was a Mr. Braiden in the ordinary who staked me two hundred dollars at rattle-and-snap against my horse.  Gad, sir, that was providence.  I won.  I left Charlestown with honor, I studied law at Salisbury in North Carolina, and I have come here to practise it.”

“You seem to have the talent,” said I, smiling at the remembrance of the Hump Gibson incident.

“That is my history in a nutshell,” said Mr. Jackson.