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message to ask when he should wait upon that gentleman.

Stoopid brought back word that the note had been opened by Mr. Hobnell, and read to half a dozen of the big boys, on whom it seemed to make a great impression; and that after consulting together and laughing, Mr. Hobnell said he would send an answer “arter arternoon school, which the bell was a ringing: and Mr. Wapshot, he came out in his Master's gownd.” Stoopid was learned in academical costume, having attended Mr. Foker at St. Boniface.

Mr. Foker went out to see the curiosities of Clavering meanwhile; but not having a taste for architecture, Doctor Portman's fine church did not engage his attention much, and he pronounced the tower to be as mouldy as an old Stilton cheese. He walked down the street and looked at the few shops there; he saw Captain Glanders at the window of the Reading-room, and having taken a good stare at that gentleman, he wagged his head at him in token of satisfaction; he inquired the price of meat at the butcher's with an air of the greatest interest, and asked “when was next killing day?” he flattened his little nose against Madame Fribsby's window to see if haply there was a pretty workwoman in her premises; but there was no face more comely than the doll's or dummy's wearing the French cap in the window, only that of Madame Fribsby herself, dimly visible in the parlor, reading a novel. That object was not of sufficient interest to keep Mr. Foker very long in contemplation, and so having exhausted the town and the inn stables, in which there were no cattle, save the single old pair of posters that earned a scanty livelihood by transporting the gentry round about to the county dinners, Mr. Foker was giving himself up to ennui

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entirely, when a messenger from Mr. Hobnell was at
length announced.
It was no other than Mr. Wapshot himself, who
came with an air of great indignation, and holding
Pen’s missive in his hand, asked Mr. Foker “how
dared he bring such an unchristian message as a
challenge to a boy of his school?”
In fact Pen had written a note to his adversary of
the day before, telling him that if after the chastise-
ment which his insolence richly deserved, he felt in-
clined to ask the reparation which was usually given
among gentlemen, Mr. Arthur Pendennis's friend, Mr.
Henry Foker, was empowered to make any arrange-
ments for the satisfaction of Mr. Hobnell.
“And so he sent you with the answer — did he,
sir?” Mr. Foker said, surveying the Schoolmaster in
his black coat and clerical costume.
“If he had accepted this wicked challenge, I should
have flogged him,” Mr. Wapshot said, and gave Mr.
Foker a glance which seemed to say, “and I should
like very much to flog you too.”
“Uncommon kind of you, sir, I’m sure,” said Pen's
emissary. “I told my principal that I didn’t think
the other man would fight,” he continued with a great
air of dignity. “He prefers being flogged to fighting,
sir, Idare say. May I offer you any refreshment, Mr.
—? I haven’t the advantage of your name.”
“My name is Wapshot, sir, and I am Master of the
Grammar School of this town, sir,” cried the other:
“and I want no refreshment, sir, I thank you, and
have no desire to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“I didn't seek yours, sir, I’m sure,” replied Mr.
Foker. “In affairs of this sort, you see, I think it
is a pity that the clergy should be called in, but
there's no accounting for tastes, sir.”

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