SCENE II.--_A clearing in a wood._ SCYTHE, _with lantern, arranging

surgical instruments_.

_Enter, running_, FOPDOODLE, _attended by_ TOM, _his valet and second, carrying lantern and dictionary_.

FOPDOODLE.

What man is this?

TOM.

Good master, this is the attendant surgeon, agreed upon by Whetstone’s second and myself, your own second and humble valet.

FOPDOODLE.

Kind Mr. Surgeon, if we two fall at once, save me first; and I promise you a great reward from father’s patrimony. And as our wounds we do refer to you, I move to make you referee. Kind Mr. Surgeon, prescribe for me a breathing spell. [SCYTHE _examines him with glass_.] Tom, my man, stand firm! For as we crossed through yonder green and peaceful field, by some ominous mischance a sleeping, low-bred, fiery bull arose, with eyes big as our lanterns, filled with the flaming fat of animal fury. He chased; and as we fled, I thought I was pursued by an infuriated animal noun. Oh, doctor, prescribe for me a breathing spell.

TOM.

Good master, here is your dictionary, if you’d take a breathing spell.

FOPDOODLE.

Unlettered ruffian, uncompassionate fool, do I clothe and fee you for this? Hand me my spirit of hartshorn to brace my spirits up. [_Using smelling-bottle._] Had I but had this spirit of hartshorn in my nostrils, I would have had the spirit to face a thousand bulls. Where’s the infuriated dictionary?

TOM.

Here it is, good master.

FOPDOODLE.

Turn to the fearful B’s; I know some good shots in the B’s.

TOM.

Here they are, good master.

FOPDOODLE.

Do we yet espy the foe?

SCYTHE [_looking through glass_].

I see him coming over the brow of the hill, and he’ll be here in a wink.

FOPDOODLE.

Alas, if I should fall!

TOM.

I’ll raise you up again.

FOPDOODLE.

Base horizontal knave, thou canst again raise up my body, but not my character.

_Enter_ WHETSTONE _and_ BLUEGRASS, _with lantern and dictionary_.

BLUEGRASS.

A brave salutation, gentlemen! We will pursue the code of honor where it does not conflict with us. Let the principals advance, and shake hands in the usual way, to show that they in humor and honor are not ill. [WHETSTONE _and_ FOPDOODLE _advance and shake hands. To_ TOM] We must compare size, weight, and calibre of type. [_They compare dictionaries._] The weapons are of the same edition. Now for choice of positions; but there are two esteemed objects in the heavens,--Mars and the moon; for them we’ll toss up. [_To_ TOM] Head or tail? [_Tosses up a coin._]

TOM.

Tail.

BLUEGRASS.

Head it is. I’ve won! I place Fopdoodle with the moon in his face, and WHETSTONE with the planet Mars at his back. [_Measures off two paces and places the principals._] In affairs of honor, delay is a vice, despatch a virtue. I propose, between each fire, thirty seconds for loading, that after the words, One, two,--fire! each one shall fire, and that this continue until one be prostrated; also that Surgeon Scythe give the word and be referee. But we’ll try to preserve a gentlemanly harmony.

TOM.

We agree.

[_Each second supports his principal, and_ SCYTHE _times them with his watch_.

FOPDOODLE.

Tom, my man, turn to the C’s; I know a terrible animal noun in the C’s.

BLUEGRASS.

Here, Mayor Whetstone, is your adjective for gunpowder,--Patagonian.

WHETSTONE.

I’ll take bat for a bullet.

BLUEGRASS.

Now, by the planet Mars, you have chosen the most unearthly bullet in the whole menagerie of animal nouns.

FOPDOODLE [_to_ TOM].

I’ve got it. I now turn to U for my gunpowder.

TOM.

Master, I have no gunpowder.

FOPDOODLE.

You unlettered utensil, you! The letter U.

SCYTHE.

Time! One, two,--fire!

WHETSTONE.

Patagonian bat!

FOPDOODLE [_pronouncing calf with broad sound of letter a_].

Unutterable calf!

BLUEGRASS.

A foul! a foul! I claim a foul.

SCYTHE.

Upon what do you base your foul?

BLUEGRASS.

Upon the letter _a_ in calf. In place of rightly firing calf with the Italian sound of _a_, as in bah, he wrongly fired calf with _a_ broad. Therefore he fired _a_ broadside, with sound the same as in ball. I claim the foul is sound.

SCYTHE.

Let me examine your weapon [_examining_ FOPDOODLE’S _dictionary_]. I plainly see a calf with two little dots like budding horns above the letter _a_, denoting the Italian sound; and as you wrongfully fired broad _a_, and as broad _a_ in your weapon is denoted by two little dots below the _a_, I rule you struck below the belt, and hence _a_ foul.

BLUEGRASS.

First foul for Fopdoodle.

WHETSTONE [_aside_].

See him tremble.

FOPDOODLE [_aside_].

I struck him badly.

SCYTHE.

Gentlemen, are your honors satisfied?

WHETSTONE.

Never! War to the word knife!

FOPDOODLE.

Never! War to the word hilt!

SCYTHE.

Then sadly be it said: Reload. I’ll see if there is any blood on yonder red and warlike Mars. [_Looks at Mars with glass, while the others reload from dictionaries._] Time! One, two,--fire!

FOPDOODLE.

Hyperborean ibex!

WHETSTONE.

Parabolical goose!

SCYTHE.

Are you satisfied?

FOPDOODLE.

Never! War to the word knife!

WHETSTONE.

Never! War to the word hilt!

SCYTHE.

Reload. [_They reload._] Time! One, two,--fire!

FOPDOODLE.

Impecunious porcupine!

WHETSTONE.

Hypothecated buzzard!

[_Lightning and thunder, while_ SCYTHE _examines the sky with glass_.

FOPDOODLE.

Listen, Tom! I think I hear the police! The police! Let us be going!

BLUEGRASS.

Hold! ’Tis but the thunder, heaven’s police drilling near the distant horizon. Let their lanterns flash and their clubs smash the sky, but this duel shall go on.

SCYTHE.

Gentlemen, reload. [_They reload._] Time! One, two,--

FOPDOODLE.

Hold! My tongue slipped.

TOM.

And the lightning’s blown my lantern out.

[_Lightning and thunder._

BLUEGRASS [_re-lighting_ TOM’S _lantern_].

I hope I may re-light your lantern without an explosion. A fearful storm is brewing, but we must make them fight until one falls.

TOM.

I’ll stand by my master.

SCYTHE.

Time! One, two,--fire!

WHETSTONE.

Categorical catamount!

FOPDOODLE.

Bog-trotting bull-frog!

BLUEGRASS.

Foul, foul, a most terrible and bulldozing foul,--a double-barrelled fowling-piece; a two-bullet foul.

TOM.

A bull-frog is no fowl.

BLUEGRASS.

A most naked and unfeathered fowl.

SCYTHE.

Upon what purely scientific facts do you now perch your alleged fowl?

BLUEGRASS.

Upon the rail between bull and frog. Bull-frog is a compound animal noun, composed of one bull and one frog, connected by a hyphen, or narrow ligament, like the Siamese twins,--two animals in one. I ask judgment.

[_Lightning and thunder._

SCYTHE.

Listen to my decision; for though it should rain bull-frogs, I’ll decide by analysis. The difference lies between the grammatical bull-frog and the purely animal bull-frog. Grammar does not concern the animal bull-frog, but has much to do with the word bull-frog. The purely animal bull-frog is manifestly not a fowl; but inasmuch as by the rules only one animal noun is allowed at a shot, and whereas the grammatical bull-frog is compounded of two animals linked by a hyphen, I declare them a chain-shot, disallowed in civilized warfare, and a foul of the worst description.

TOM.

Good master, he says ’tis a foul.

FOPDOODLE.

We’re in bad odor with this referee. I smell foul play. Give me my spirit of hartshorn, or I faint.

TOM.

Here it is, good master.

[FOPDOODLE _smells of hartshorn, and_ WHETSTONE _drinks out of a flask_.

SCYTHE.

Time! One, two,--fire!

FOPDOODLE.

Humpbacked sham!

WHETSTONE.

Infamous liar!

FOPDOODLE.

You man in buckram! You rambling sham! You blue sham, three-cornered sham, catalectic sham! You panting, rampant sham, black sham, white sham, speckled sham!

BLUEGRASS [_to_ SCYTHE].

Stop him! He has opened the menagerie. Foul, foul! He has fired a whole sham battery.

WHETSTONE.

I’ll slay him on the spot. You catacomb! you catastrophic, cataleptic, catacoustic cat! Pooh! you spotted poodle, you freckled poodle, you yellow-brindled poodle! dogfish! you dogmatic-dogwood-doggerel dog.

[_Lightning and thunder._

TOM [_supporting_ FOPDOODLE].

Good master, bear up. ’Tis only a shower of cats and dogs.

FOPDOODLE [_fainting_].

Give me a drink of tiger’s blood!

BLUEGRASS [_to_ WHETSTONE].

See, you have struck him; he is falling.

[FOPDOODLE _falls, clasping his dictionary_.

SCYTHE [_to_ TOM].

Run quickly. Catch me a sheep in yonder field. By transfusing blood from its veins to his, I’ll make the weak brave, the faint alive. [_Taking up a surgical instrument._] Now, great Science, help me!

TOM.

Good master, I go to get the sheep.

[_Exit_ TOM.

BLUEGRASS.

Long live and let live the literary duel!

[_Lightning and thunder. The scene closes while_ WHETSTONE, BLUEGRASS, _and_ SCYTHE _gather around_ FOPDOODLE, _administering to him_.