"If this--ah!--young gentleman struck you, Mistah Raymon', sah, there can be but one termination of the affaiah. He will have to meet you, sah, on the field, or humbly apologize at once."

"That's right!" bl.u.s.tered the young man, fiercely. "I'll have his life, or an instant apology!"

Frank smiled as if he were quite amused.

"As I happen to feel that I am the one to whom an apology is due, you will have to be satisfied with taking my life," he said.

The youth with the dark face drew out a handsome card case, from which he extracted an engraved card, which he haughtily handed to Frank, who accepted it, and read aloud:

"'Mr. Rolf Raymond.' A very pretty name. Allow me; my card, Mr. Raymond.

I am stopping at the St. Charles Hotel. You will be able to find me without difficulty."

"Rest a.s.sured that a friend of mine will call on you without delay, Mr.

Merriwell," stiffly said Raymond, thrusting Frank's card into his pocket.

Professor Scotch had forced his way through the crowd in time to catch the drift of this, and the full significance of it dawned upon him, filling him with amazement and horror.

"This will not do--it will never do!" he spluttered. "Dueling is a thing of the past; there is a law for it! I will not have it! Frank, you hot-headed young rascal, what do you mean by getting into such a sc.r.a.pe?"

"Keep cool, professor," said the boy, calmly. "If this young gentleman insists on forcing me into a duel, I cannot take water--I must give him satisfaction."

"I tell you I won't have it!" roared the little man, in his big, hoa.r.s.e voice, his face getting very red. "I am your guardian. You are a minor, and I forbid you to fight a duel."

"If Mistah Merriwell will apologize, it is possible that, considering his age, sah, Mistah Raymon' will not press this mattah," smoothly said the man with the bristling mustache.

"What has he to apologize for?" asked Scotch.

"He struck Mistah Raymon', sah."

"Did you do that, Frank?"

"Yes; but he struck me first."

"He did, eh?" roared the professor, getting very red in the face. "Well, I don't think you'll apologize, Frank, and you're not going to fight.

You're a boy; let him take a man. If he wants to fight anybody, I'm just his hairpin, and I'll agree to do him up with any kind of a weapon from a broad-ax to a bologna sausage!"

CHAPTER XV.

MYSTERY OF THE FLOWER QUEEN.

Frank looked at Professor Scotch in amazement, for he had never known the little man to use such language or show such spirit in the face of actual danger.

"I wonder if the professor has been drinking, and, if so, where he got his drinks?" was the thought that flashed through Frank's mind.

"Mistah Raymon', sah, has no quarrel with you, sah," said the individual with the bristling mustache. "If there is to be any further trouble, sah, I will attend to your case."

"You? Who are you?"

"I, sah, am Colonel La Salle Vallier, the ver' particular friend of Mistah Raymon'. If yo' say so, we will exchange cards, sah."

"Then we will exchange. Here is mine."

"And here, sah, is mine."

"This," said Colonel Vallier, "precludes yo' from interfering in this othah affair, Professor Scotch."

"Hey? It does! How's that, I'd like to know?"

"I am at your service, professor," bowed the colonel. "You shall make such arrangements as yo' choose. Pistols or swords make no difference to me, for I am a dead shot and an expert swordsman. I trust yo' will excuse us now, gentlemen. We will see yo' later. Good-day."

He locked arms with the young man, and they turned away, with a sweeping salute. The throng parted, and they pa.s.sed through.

Professor Scotch stood staring after them till Frank tapped him on the shoulder, saying:

"Come, professor, we may as well get out of this."

"Excuse-a me, senors," said a soft, musical voice, and a young man with a Spanish face and pink cheeks was bowing before them. "I t'ink you need-a to be tole 'bout it."

"Told about what?" demanded Frank, who took an instant dislike to this softly smiling fellow with the womanish voice and gentle ways. "What do you mean?"

"Excuse-a me," repeated the stranger, who was gaudily dressed in many colors. "Yo' are strangar-a-rs from de Noath, an' yo' do not know-a de men what you have a de troub' wid. Excuse-a me; I am Manuel Mazaro, an'

I know-a dem. De young man is son of de ver' reech Senor Roderick Raymon', dat everybody in New Orle'n know. He is ver' wile--ver'

reckless. Ha! He love-a to fight, an' he has been in two duel, dough he is ver' young. But de odare, senors--de man wid de white mustache--ah!"

Manuel Mazaro threw up his hands with an expression that plainly said words failed him.

"Well, what of the other?" asked Frank, impatiently.

"Senors," purred Mazaro, "he is de wor-r-rst fightar ever leeve! He like-a to fight fo' de sport of keelin'. Take-a my advice, senors, an'

go 'way from New Orle'n'. Yo' make ver' gre't mistake to get in troub'

wid dem."

"Thank you for your kind advice," said Frank, quietly. "I presume it is well meant, but it is wasted. This is a free country, and a dozen fire-eaters like Colonel La Salle Vallier and Mr. Rolf Raymond cannot drive us out of New Orleans till we are ready to go. Eh, professor?"

"Well, I guess not!" rumbled the little man, stiffening up and looking as fierce as he could.

"Oh, ver' well, ver' well," said Mazaro, lifting his eyebrows, the ghost of a scornful smile on his face. "You know-a your own biz. Good-day, senors."

"Good-day, sir."

They pa.s.sed through the crowd and sought their carriage, which was waiting for them, although the driver had begun to think they had deserted him.

The procession, which had been broken up by the stampeded steers, was again forming, making it evident that the pleasure-loving people were determined that the unfortunate occurrence should not ruin the day.

The Queen of Flowers and her subjects had vanished, and the flower barge was a wreck, so a part of the programme could not be carried out.