The National tribune., 1881-10-29
GEORGE JONES'S DUEL.

George Jones was taking his yearly holiday.
He was a worthy man, shrewd in his own line,
honest and, as need hardly be stated, an English
man. He was thirty-fye years of age, in the en-
ioyment of a comfortable post in the office of
Public Works and bachelor Not bad-look1ng,
of average height, square shouldered, well built,
scrupulous in dress with brown hair, beard
trimmed in the fashion of Vandykes days, and
blue eyes, which, as he was well aware, were his
best feature.
He stood, when we were introduced to him. IN
the drawing room of Madame Boutiton's board
ing-house Numero 999, Rue de Neuve Chaussee,
Boulogne. Jones was not much acquainted with
the Continent once he had penetrated as far as
Paris; but that was years ago, and since then his
experience had been confined to his native shores
His attitude, with his legs apart, his hands be-
hind his back, was suggestive of Brlton. He
was little impressed by the idea that it was
fine thing to be abroad and wished these foreign
ers to understand that though he might honor
their shores with his presence, it was only be-
cause he had seen enough of all those much bet
ter things which light be seen at home.
"She is a remarkably fine girl, and the wonder
is how she could have become his wife. But
suppose it is the same thing over again; these
French buy and sell their women in the same
fashion they used to manage down in Carolina.
presume he has money, and she hasn't; he has
what she has not, and she has what he wants !;
soiId tout, the bargains ended.
The speaker. the only other occupant of the
room, was seated at his ease in low rocking
chair, turning an unlighted cigarette round and
round in his fingers. Mr. Jeffrey James Lyme
was, as his speech betrayed, an American. Short
IN stature, slight in build, with fair hair, fair
mustache, microscopic in dimensions, a square,
well-shaped chin, a nose with tendency to ac
outline, sleepy, uncertain-colOred eyes, with an
air of perfect, well-bred self-possession, undena
bly, a gentleman, he was type of a certain class
in Young America. The peculiarly in speech
which betrayed his birth was its extreme nicely
his musical voice, a certain underlined drawl, and
the odd manner in which he, every now and
then, chose big words to express little meanings.
Jeffrey James Lyme was scampering through
Europe-partly because it was the thing to do,
partly for pleasure, partly for profit. For Mr..
Lyme had keen eye for business and shining
dollars. Chance, or his own inclination, had
brought him to B0ulogne: and, meeting in the
same clearinghouse, Mr.. Jones and he had, al
most as matter of course, become acquaint-
anceS
Mr.. Jones balanced himself upon his toes and
heels judiciously before he replied to Mr.. Lyne's
remarks. Although bachelor-perhaps because
be was bachelor-he took considerable interest
in women, especially young ones, and in this par
Icular instance he wished to impress upon Mr.
Lyme that he acquainted with his subject
It's all very well for you celd-blOoded Yam
KEGS TO talk like that. Women may be bought
and sold don't dispute ii, and some men may
be had at price, upon pinch; but there are
women who are as far above rubies-or their
equivalent-as-a Mont Blanc is above ST.
PauI's-women, indeed, who would as soon think
of bartering their heart for gold, as-as they
would of flying"
Mr.. Lyme rose, and laughed. He was anxious
to smoke his cigarette. Good manners and the
rule of the house prevented him doing so in Ma
dame BoutitOn's drawing room.
Name them" he retorted. Il gave an exam
pie of the one sort; it remains with you to pro-
vide an illustration of the other"
Mr. Jones withdrew one hand from under his
coat tails and extending ii in front of him, be-
came an orator, accepted the challenge.
"Then l name Miss Cheshire! Agnes Chesh-
ire, sir, is a woman who can only be bought
with one price, the price of affection! Her heart
is heart it would be privilege to win! There
can only be one sort of barter for her. the barter
Of love for love-"
"You think so?" Hr. Lyme smiled as he
placed his cigarette between his lips and looked
at Mr.. Jones with his sleepy eyes. "On what
grounds?"
"On what groundsi" exclaimed Mr.. Jones.
"On what grounds, sir! Look at her eyes! Look
AT her nose! Look at her lips. Look at the
whole expression Of her countenance! Look at
her forehead. A forehead like that, sir, stamps
woman, ike-like the hallmark does gold!"
Ar. Lyme said nothing, but moved toward the
door, the ghost of smile upon his lips When
he reached it be held up his cigarette and turned
10 Mr.. Jones
Pm going to have smoke upon the sands :;
will you Gomez"
NO" said Mr.. Jsnes; no. thanks, / seldom