Indeed, the Doctor stood in instant fear of this
catastrophe; for Captain Runacles' temper was a byword, and not even
his customary dark flush looked so dangerous as the lustreless,
sullen eyes now sunk in a face that was drawn and pinched and
absolutely wax-like in colour. To the Doctor's astonishment,
however, it was the little hunchback who now jumped up and whipped
out his sword.
"Run me through!" he almost screamed, dancing before the other and
threatening him with absurd flourishes--"Run me through?"
"Listen, gentlemen; listen, before blood is spilt! To me it appears
evident that you are both drunk."
"To me that seems an advantage, since it equalises matters."
"But whichever of you survives, he will be unable to forgive himself;
having sinned not only against God, but also against logic."
"How against logic?"
"Permit me to demonstrate. Mrs. Salt, whom (as I well know) you
esteemed, is lost to you; and in her place is left a babe whom--
healthy though he undoubtedly is--you cannot possibly esteem without
taking a great deal for granted, especially as you have not yet set
eyes on him. Now it is evident that, if one of you should kill the
other, a second life of approved worth will be sacrificed for an
infant of purely hypothetical merits.
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