the duelists met. Arthur had been thinking seriously during these
proceedings and had made up his mind it was in no degree his duty to be
bored full of holes by a drunken countryman like Bill Sizer, just
because there had been a typographical error in the _Millville Tribune_.
So, when he got to the end of the street, instead of turning into the
lane he made for the farm, holding the long dueling pistol gingerly in
his hand and trotting at a good pace for home.

Footsteps followed him. In sudden panic he increased his run; but the
other was faster. A heavy hand grasped his shoulder and swung him
around, while old Bob West, panting for Breath, exclaimed:

"Stop, you fool--stop! The other one is running."

"The other one!" echoed Arthur, wonderingly.

"Of course. Bill Sizer was sure to run; he's a coward, as all bullies
are. Quick, Weldon, save the day and your reputation or I'll never stand
your friend again."

Arthur understood now. He turned and ran back faster than he had come,
swung into the lane where the crowd was cautiously peering from the
shelter of the buildings, and waving his pistol in a reckless way that
made Bob West shudder, he cried out:

"Where is he? Where's Sizer? Why don't he show up and be shot, like a
man?"

No Sizer appeared. He was even then headed cross-lots for home, leaving
his friends to bemoan his cowardice. As for Arthur, the crowd gave him a