Hemphill was not inclined to talk.  Of course, Locker did not care to converse with the young diplomat, and consequently he found himself bored, and to relieve his feelings he burst into song.  His words were impromptu, and although the verse was not very good, it was very impressive.  It began as follows: 

    “Here we go,
        Lovers three,
    All steeped deep
        In miseree.”

At this Mr. Hemphill turned and looked at him, while a deep grunt came from the front seat, but the singer kept on without much attention to meter, and none at all to tune.

    “This is so,
        Here we go,
    Flabbergasted,
        Hopes all blasted,
    Flags half-masted. 
        While it lasted,
    We poor—­”

“Look here,” cried Du Brant, turning round suddenly, “I beg you desist that.  You are insulting.  And what you say is not true, as regards me at least.  You can sing for yourself.”

“Not true!” cried Locker.  “Oh, ho, oh ho!  Perhaps you have forgotten yourself, kind sir.”

This little speech seemed to make Du Brant very angry, and he fairly shouted at Locker:  “No, I haven’t forgotten myself, and I have not forgotten you!  You have insulted me before, and I should like to make you pay for it!  I should like to have satisfaction from you, sir”

“That sounds well,” cried Locker.  “Do you mean to fight?”

“I want the satisfaction due to a gentleman,” answered the young Austrian.

“Good,” cried Locker, “that would suit me exactly.  It would brighten me up.  Let’s do it now.  I am not going to stop at Washington, and this is the only time I can give you.  Driver, can we get to the station in time if we stop a little while?”

The person addressed was a young negro who had become intensely interested in the conversation.

“Oh, yes, sah,” he answered.  “We’ll git dar twenty minutes before de train does, and if you takes half an hour I can whip up.  That train’s mostly late, anyway.”

“All right,” cried Locker.  “And now, sir, how shall we fight?  What have you got to fight with?”

“This is folly,” growled Du Brant.  “I have nothing to fight with.  I do not fight with fists, like you Americans.”

“Haven’t you a penknife” coolly asked Locker.  “If not, I daresay Mr. Hemphill will lend you one.”

Du Brant now fairly trembled with anger.  “When I fight,” said he, “I fight like a gentleman; with a sword or a pistol.”

“I am sorry,” said Locker, “but if I remembered to bring my sword and pistol I must have put them in the bottom of my trunk, and that has gone on to the station.  Have you two pistols or swords with you?  Or do you think you could get sufficient satisfaction out of a couple of piles of stones that we could hurl at each other?”

Du Brant made no English answer to this, but uttered some savage remarks in French.

“Do you understand what all that means?” inquired Locker of Hemphill, who had been quietly listening to what had been going on.