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Rh adorned the room, would suggest putting a sporting challenge in the Times.

“’Pon my word, Puffin,” he would say, “I’ve half a mind to do it. Retired Major of His Majesty’s Forces&#8203;—&#8203;the King, God bless him!” (and he took a substantial sip); “‘Retired Major, aged fifty-four, challenges any gentleman of fifty years or over.’”

“Forty,” said Puffin sycophantically, as he thought over what he would say about himself when the old man had finished.

“Well, we’ll halve it, we’ll say forty-five, to please you, Puffin&#8203;—&#8203;let’s see, where had I got to?&#8203;—&#8203;‘Retired Major challenges any gentleman of forty-five years or over to&#8203;—&#8203;to a shooting match in the morning, followed by half a dozen rounds with four-ounce gloves, a game of golf, eighteen holes, in the afternoon, and a billiard match of two hundred up after tea.’ Ha! ha! I shouldn’t feel much anxiety as to the result.”

“My confounded leg!” said Puffin. “But I know a retired captain from His Majesty’s merchant service&#8203;—&#8203;the King, God bless him!&#8203;—&#8203;aged fifty—”

“Ho! ho! Fifty, indeed!” said the Major, thinking to himself that a dried-up little man like Puffin might be as old as an Egyptian mummy. Who can tell the age of a kipper?…

“Not a day less, Major. ‘Retired Captain, aged fifty, who’ll take on all comers of forty-two and over, at a steeplechase, round of golf, billiard match, hopping match, gymnastic competition, swinging Indian clubs—’ No objection, gentlemen? Then carried ''nem. con.''”

This gaseous mood, athletic, amatory or otherwise (the amatory ones were the worst), usually faded slowly, like the light from the setting sun or an exhausted coal