"Perhaps he can. But you have not yet received a challenge from Colonel Vallier; so don't worry about what may not happen."
"I can't help worrying. I shall not take any further pleasure in life till we get out of this dreadful city."
"Oh, brace up! Come on; let's go out and see the sights."
"No, Frank—no, my boy. I am indisposed—I am quite ill. Besides that, I might meet Colonel Vallier. I shall remain in my room for the present."
So Frank was obliged to go out alone, and, when he returned for supper, he found the professor in bed, looking decidedly like a sick man.
"I am very ill, Frank—very ill," Scotch declared. "I fear I am in for a protracted illness."
"Nonsense, professor! Why, you'll miss all the fun to-morrow, and we're here to see the sport."
"Confound the sport! I wish we had stayed away from this miserable place!"
"Why, you were very enthusiastic over New Orleans and the people of the South this morning."
"Hang the people of the South—hang them all! They're too hot-headed—they're altogether too ready to fight over nothing. Now, I'm a peaceable man, and I can't fight—I simply can't!"
"Well, well! I don't fancy you'll have to fight," said Frank, whose conscience was beginning to smite him.
"Then I'll have to apologize, and I'll be jiggered if I know what I'm going to apologize for!"
"What makes you so sure you'll have to apologize?"
"Look at this—read it!"
The professor drew an envelope from beneath his pillow and passed it to Frank. The envelope contained a note, which the boy was soon reading. It was from Colonel Vallier, and demanded an apology, giving the professor until the following noon in which to make it, and hinting that a meeting of honor would surely follow if the apology was not forthcoming.
"Whew!" whistled Frank. "This does seem like business. When did you receive this?"
"Shortly after you went out."
"I scarcely thought the colonel would press the affair."
"There's a letter for you on the table."
"From whom is it?"
"Don't know. Raymond, I suppose. The same messenger brought them both."
Frank picked up the letter and tore it open. It proved to be from Rolf Raymond, and was worded much like the note to Professor Scotch.
The warm blood of anger mounted to the boy's cheeks.
"This settles it!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Rolf Raymond shall have all the fight he wants. I am a good pistol shot and more than a fair swordsman. At Fardale I was the champion with the foils. If he thinks I am a coward and a greenhorn because I come from the North, he may find he has made a serious mistake."
The professor literally writhed in the bed.
"But you may be killed, and I'd never forgive myself," he moaned.
"Killed or not, I can't show the white feather!" cried Frank, warmly.
"I do not believe in duelling."
"Nor do I, but I have found it necessary to do some things I do not believe in. I am not going to run, and I am not going to apologize, for I believe an apology is due me, if any one. This being the case, I'll have to fight."
"Oh, what a scrape—what a dreadful scrape!" groaned Scotch, wringing his hands. "Why did we ever come here?"
"Oh, do brace up, professor!" cried Frank, impatiently. "We have been in worse scrapes than this, and you were not so badly broken up. It was only a short time ago down in Mexico that Pacheco's bandits hemmed us in on one side and there was a raging volcano on the other; but still we live and have our health. I'll guarantee we'll pull through this scrape, and I'll bet we come out with flying colors."
"You may feel like meeting Rolf Raymond, but I simply can't stand up before that fire-eating colonel."
"There seems to be considerable bluster about this business, and I'll wager something you won't have to stand up before him if you will put on a bold front and make-believe you are eager to meet him."
"Oh, my boy, you don't know—you can't tell!"
"Come, professor, get out of bed and dress. We want to see the parade this evening. They say it will be great."
"Oh, I wish the parades were all at the bottom of the sea!"
"We couldn't see them then, for we're not mermaids or fishes."
"Will you never be serious?"
"I don't know; perhaps I may, when I'm too sick to be otherwise. Are you going to get up?"
"No."
"Do you mean to stay in bed?"
"Yes."
"And miss the parade to-night?"
"I don't care for the old parade."
"Well, I do, and I'm going to see it."
"Will you see some newspaper reporters and state that I am very ill—dangerously ill—that I am dying. Do this favor for me, Frank. Colonel Vallier can't force a dying man to meet him in a duel."
"I am shocked and pained, professor, that you should wish me to tell a lie, even to save your life; but I'll see what I can do for you."
CHAPTER XVII.
LED INTO A TRAP
Frank ate alone, and went forth alone to see the parade. The professor remained in bed, apparently in a state of utter collapse.
The night after Mardi Gras in New Orleans the Krewe of Proteus holds its parade and ball. The parade is a most dazzling and magnificent spectacle, and the ball is no less splendid.
The streets along which the parade must pass were lined with a dense mass of people on both sides, while windows and balconies were filled.
Shortly after the appointed time the parade started.
It consisted of a series of elaborate and gorgeous floats, the whole forming a line many blocks in length.
Hundreds of flaring torches threw their lights over the moving tableau, and it was indeed a splendid dream.
Never before had Frank seen anything of the kind one-half as beautiful, and he was sincerely glad they had reached the Crescent City in time to be present at Mardi Gras.
The stampede of the Texan steers and the breaking up of the parade that day had made a great sensation in New Orleans. Every one had heard of the peril of the Flower Queen, and how she was rescued by a handsome youth who was said to be a visitor from the North, but whom nobody seemed to know.
Now, the Krewe of Proteus was composed entirely of men, and it was their policy to have nobody but men in their parade. These men were to dress as fairies of both sexes, as they were required to appear in the tableau of "Fairyland."
But the managers of the affair had conceived the idea that it would be a good scheme to reconstruct the wrecked flower barge and have the Queen of Flowers in the procession.
But the Queen of Flowers seemed to be a mystery to every one, and the managers knew not how to reach her. They made many inquiries, and it became generally known that she was desired for the procession.
Late