'Snodgrass,' said Mr Winkle, when they had turned off the public street. 'Snodgrass, my dear fellow, can I trust you to keep a secret?' As Mr Winkle spoke, he was really hoping with all his heart that Snodgrass could not.

'You can trust me,' replied Mr Snodgrass. 'Hear me promise - '

'No, no,' interrupted Winkle. He was terrified by the idea that his friend would promise not to give information that Winkle secretly hoped he would give. 'Don't swear, don't swear; it's quite unnecessary.'

Mr Snodgrass dropped his hand. Like a true poet, he had lifted it towards the sky as he prepared to promise. Now he instead showed that he was ready to listen.

'I want your help, my dear fellow, in a question of honour,' said Mr Winkle.

'I will help you', said Snodgrass, taking Winkle's hand to show how strongly he felt about it.

'I have a duel with a doctor - Doctor Slammer, of the 97th,' said Mr Winkle, trying to make things seem as serious as possible; 'an affair with an officer, at sunset this evening, in a lonely field on the other side of Fort Pitt.'