Darius tossed his head a little. "Wasn't it a clever bit of work?
Didn't he get fame there by defeating one of the best swordsmen--in
Ireland?"
Lord Mallow nodded. "He got fame, which he lost in time," he answered.
"You mean he put the sword that had done such good work against a
champion into a man's bowels, without 'by your leave,' or 'will you draw
and fight'?"
"Something like that," answered the governor sagely.
"Is it true you believed he'd strike a man that wasn't armed, sir?"
The governor winced, but showed nothing. "He'd been drinking--he is a
heavy drinker. Do you never drink with him?"
Darius Boland's face took on a strange look. Here was an intended insult
to Dyck Calhoun. Right well the governor knew their relative social
positions. Darius pulled at the hair on his chin reflectively. "Yes,
I've drunk his liquor, but not as you mean, your honour. He'd drink with
any man at all: he has no nasty pride. But he doesn't drink with me."
"Modest enough he is to be a good republican, eh, Boland?"
"Since your honour puts it so, it must stand. I'll not dispute it, me
being what I am and employed by whom I am.
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