That glove is still preserved. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display. Two shots were fired at him by Jonathan; one of which passed through his hat, and the other through the fleshy part of his arm; but he made good his retreat. He left his companion in the midst of a glowing eulogy of Bastien Leparge, and boldly intercepted his hostess as she moved from one group to join another. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. The kind of man who isn’t content with his science, and writes articles in the monthly reviews.
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