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“You are beginning to see double,” was Everett’s reply, lifting his head with a slight drunken air, and throwing a half-angry glance upon his friend.

“That is more than you can do,” was the retort, with a meaning toss of the head.

“I don’t understand you,” Everett said, pausing with the decanter still in his hand, and eyeing his friend, steadily.

“Don’t you, indeed! You see yourself in a state of blessed singleness–ha! Do you take?”

“Look here, James,–you are my friend. But there are things that I will not allow even a friend to utter. So take care now!”

“Ha! ha! There comes the raw. Do I rub too hard, my boy?”

“You ‘re drunk, and a fool into the bargain!” was the angry retort of Everett.

“Not so drunk as you were when you hugged and kissed Ernestine Lee! How do you like–?”

Lane could not finish the sentence, before the decanter which Everett had held in his hand glanced past his head with fearful velocity, and was dashed into fragments against the wall behind him. The instant interference of friends prevented any further acts of violence.

It was about ten o’clock on the next morning that young doctor Lane sat in his office, musing on the events of the previous night, of which he had only a confused recollection, when a young man entered, and presented a note. On opening it, he found it to be a challenge from Everett.

“Leave me your card, and I will refer my friend to you,” was his reply, with a cold bow, as he finished reading the note. The card was left, and the stranger, with a frigid bow in return, departed.

“Fool, fool that I have been!” ejaculated Lane, rising to his feet, and pacing the floor of his office backwards and forwards with hurried steps. This was continued for nearly half an hour, during which time his countenance wore a painful and gloomy expression. At last, pausing, and seating himself at a table, he murmured, as he lifted a pen,

“It is too late now for vain regrets.”

He then wrote a note with a hurried air, and dispatched it by an attendant. This done, he again commenced pacing the floor of his office, but now with slower steps, and a face expressive of sad determination. In about twenty minutes a young man entered, saying, as he did so–

“I’m here at a word, Harvey–and now what is this important business which I can do for you, and for which you are going to be so everlastingly obliged?”

“That will tell you,” Lane briefly said, handing him the challenge he had received.

The young man’s face turned pale as he read the note.

“Bless me, Harvey!” he ejaculated, as he threw the paper upon the table. “This is a serious matter, truly! Why how have you managed to offend Everett? I always thought that you were friends of the warmest kind.”

“So we have been, until now. And at this moment, I have not an unkind thought towards him, notwithstanding he threw a bottle of wine at my head last night, which, had it taken effect, would have, doubtless, killed me instantly.”

“How in the world did that happen, doctor?”

“We were both flushed with wine, at the time. I said something that I ought not to have said–something which had I been myself, I would have cut off my right hand before I would have uttered–and it roused him into instant passion.”

“And not satisfied with throwing the bottle of wine at your head, he now sends you a challenge?”

“Yes. And I must accept it, notwithstanding I have no angry feelings against him; and, but for the hasty step he has now taken, would have most willingly asked his pardon.”

“That, of course, is out of the question now,” the friend replied. “But I will see his second; and endeavour, through him, to bring about a reconciliation, if I can do so, honourably, to yourself.”

“As to that,” replied Lane, “I have nothing to say. If he insists upon a meeting, I will give him the satisfaction he seeks.”