“He’ll have to convince my cutlass!” roared Red Gil.

I turned upon him. “If I do convince it, what then?” I demanded. “If I convince your sword, you of Spain, and yours, Sir Black and Silver?”

The Spaniard stared. “I was the best sword in Lima,” he said stiffly. “I and my Toledo will not change our minds.”

“Let him try to convince Paradise; he’s got no reputation as a swordsman!” cried out the gravedigger with the broken head.

A roar of laughter followed this suggestion, and I gathered from it and from the oaths and allusions to this or that time and place that Paradise was not without reputation.

I turned to him.