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originator； the genius。
And he was especially lucky in not having been tied down； in his
younger years； to one national tradition of the art。 The limitations of the
French； the Spanish； the Italian； or the Austrian schools had not enslaved
him in youth and hampered the free development of his individuality。 He
had studied them all； he chose from them all their superiorities； their
excellences he blended into a system of his own。
It might be called the Cleggett System。
The Frenchman is an intellectual swordsman； the basis of his art is a
thorough knowledge of its mathematics。 Upon this foundation he
superimposes a structure of audacity。 But he often falls into one error or
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another； for all his mental brilliancy。 He may become rigidly formal in
his practice； or； in a revolt from his own formalism； be seduced into a
display of showy； sensational tricks that are all very well in the studio but
dangerous to their practitioner on the actual dueling ground。
The Italian； looser； freer； less formal； more individual in his style；
springing from a line of forbears who have preferred the thrust to the cut；
the point to the edge； for centuries； is a more instinctive and less
intellectual swordsman than the Frenchman。 It is in his blood； he uses
his rapier with a wild and angry grace that is feline。
The Frenchman； even when he is thoroughly serious in his desire to
slay； loves a duel for its own sake； he is never free from the thought of the
picture he is making； the art； the science； the practical cleverness； appeal
to him independently of the bloodshed。
The Italian thinks of but one thing； to kill。 He will take a severe
wound to give a fatal one。 The French are the best fencers in the world；
the Italians the deadliest duelists。
Cleggett； as has been said； knew all the schools without being the
slave of any of them。
He brought his sword en tierce； Loge's blade met his with strength and
delicacy。 The strength Cleggett was prepared for。 The delicacy
surprised him。 But he was too much the master； too confident of his own
powers； to trifle。 He delivered one of his favorite thrusts； it was a stroke
of his own invention； three times out of five； in years past； it had carried
home the button of his foil to his opponent's jacket。 It was executed with
the directness and rapidity of a flash of lightning。
But Loge parried it with a neatness which made Cleggett open his eyes；
replying with a counter so shrewd and close； and of such a darting ferocity；
that Cleggett； although he met it faultlessly； nevertheless gave back a step。
〃Ah；〃 cried Loge； showing his yellow teeth in a grin； 〃so the little man
knows that thrust！〃
〃I invented it；〃 said Cleggett。
With the word he pressed forward and； making a swift and dazzling
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feint； followed it with two brilliant thrusts； either of which would have
meant the death of a tyro。 The first one Loge parried； the second touched
him； but it gave him nothing more than a scratch。 Nevertheless； the
smile faded from Loge's face； he gave ground in his turn before this rapid
vigor of attack； he measured Cleggett with a new glance。
〃You are touched； I think；〃 said Cleggett； meditating a fresh
combination； 〃and I am glad to see you drop that ugly pretense at a grin。
You have no idea how the sight of those yellow teeth of yours； which you
were evidently never taught to brush when you were a little boy； offends a
person of any refinement。〃
Loge's answer was a sudden attempt to twist his blade around
Cleggett's； followed by a direct thrust； as quick as light； which grazed
Cleggett's shoulder； a little smudge of blood appeared on his undershirt。
〃Take care； take care； Cleggett！〃 warned Wilton Barnstable； from his
post by the starboard bulwark。
〃Make yourself easy；〃 said Cleggett； parrying a counter en carte； 〃I am
only getting warm。〃
And both of them； stung by the slight scratches which they had
received； settled to the business with an intent and silent deadliness of
purpose。
To all appearances Loge had an immense advantage over Cleggett； his
legs were a good two inches longer； so were his arms。 And he knew how
to make these peculiarities count。 He fought for a while with a calm and
steady precision that repeatedly baffled the calculated impetuosity of
Cleggett's attack。 But the air of bantering certainty with which he had
begun the duel had left him。 He no longer wasted his breath on repartee；
no doubt he was surprised to find Cleggett's strength so nearly equal to his
own； as Cleggett had been astonished to find in Loge so much finesse。
But with a second slight wound Loge began to give ground。
With Cleggett a bout with the foils had always been a duel。 It has
been indicated； we believe； that he was of a romantic disposition and much
given to daydreaming； his imagination had thus made every set…to in the
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fencing room a veritable mortal combat to him。 Therefore； this was not
his first duel； he had fought hundreds of them。 And he fought always on
a settled plan； adapting it； of course； to the idiosyncrasies of his adversary。
It was his custom to vary the system of his attack frequently in the most
disconcerting manner； at the same time steadily increasing the pace at
which he fought。 And when Loge began to give ground and breathe a
little harder； Cleggett； far from taking advantage of his opponent's growing
distress to rest himself； as a less distinguished swordsman might have
done； redoubled the vigor of his assault。 Cleggett knew that sooner or
later a winded man makes a fault。 The lungs labor and fail to give the
blood all the oxygen it needs。 The circulation