The ringing of the bell cut him off.
A call came from the floor in the midst of boos and cat calls, "You bastard, it is not fair, you are being," in the fluent, but accented, English of a Welshman.
Benjamin stood up and held up both hands for silence. "It is my job to referee this duel. I remind you of what I told the duelist about this still being a church. If we can identify who just said what I heard, the ushers will escort the party from the building." He sought eye contact with the head usher. "Did you see who said that?"
The man shook his head.
"Well, it came from somewhere over in that area," the referee pointed. "Watch it and if it happens again I want the impious fellow thrown out on his-" Benjamin paused. "-Backside." A response of approval, disapproval and laughter created a rumble in the audience.
This was the capstone over the relaxed atmosphere which pretty much finished establishing the tone of the evening festivities.
Benjamin spoke over the noise. "Mister Interlocutor? Who is our next questioner?"
"Mister Referee, our next questioner is Brian Early."
Brian, having won the right to ask his question, found his way to Grantville from Magdeburg for the weekend. "Aristotle and Descartes seem to be in agreement on many things. But . . ."
****
The second and third rounds went to Walt.
At the end of the tenth round a pause ensued while the take-which is to say the votes-were counted. To fill the time Benjamin read a note he had been handed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have been informed that as of this time Walt the Barber is ahead on points by a significant margin. Still, this contest is not decided by popular vote, but rather by the number of rounds. If Walt wins this round the title is his by six rounds to four. If it does not fall to him, then there is a five-to-five tie and we will move onto the sudden-death tiebreaker."
The lass who hung the placards handed Benjamin a note which he read while she hung the card showing the round going to Jimmy Dick.
"Ladies and gentlemen, by a three vote lead, this round went to Jimmy the Dickhead Shaver. So now we move on to one last round. Let me remind you, you are voting on the merits of the debate and not solely on your personal prejudices."
There came a shout from the standing room only section, "Yeah, right! In your dreams, Benny boy! In your dreams!"
If ever there was a roar of angry laughter it was heard that night at that hour.
The evening went to Jimmy when he took the eleventh round by four votes.
****
The arguments started long before people got as far as the coffee line in the basement.
"Who gives a damn about the point spread? Jimmy won fair and square!"
"Hey, man, all I said was-"
"I heard you, shithead. Walt won on the point spread. It don't matter a damn at all. Shit, do I have to point it out to you? In the Civil war the South won the point spread. Now you tell me who won the war. The point spread don't matter one bit. Jimmy keeps the title."
"Yeah, for now. But, what about the rematch."
"What rematch? It's settled."
"The one Walt has every right to demand."
"Yeah, if he's a bad loser! The South shall rise again."
"You want to go outside and repeat that?"
Fortunately someone called the police station in the tenth round when they correctly gauged the mood of the crowd. In spite of a police presence that night, the troubles were not over, merely postponed.
****
Someone approached Benjamin while he was drinking coffee. "Herr Leek, you are referee. Why are you allowing unfair to Jimmy Dick this way? A debate should be even."
"Sir, you are laboring under a misunderstanding."
"What?" asked the German. His English vocabulary was not as good as he thought it was.
"You got it wrong. This was not a debate. It was a verbal duel, a farce, a comedy, an entertainment. I was working from a script. You heard me admit it when the audience did not know its lines. This was a show, just a show. If you want a real debate, then we'll need to do it over."
****
That night, over beer, another debate was going on.
"Where were the fireworks? Jimmy should have torn the man up," Brian complained.
"Hey, I've already told you. Jimmy's changed," Bubba answered.
"Yeah, sure. The leopard changed his spots."
"It's the truth. He's changed. Ever since they started calling him a philosopher, he's been spending most of his days in the library. Then his daughter died and he wasn't around for awhile. When I saw him next-I don't know-he was different somehow."
"Well, he still should have torn the barber up."
****
Three days later, the dispatcher looked up as Lyndon brought in a bloody nose with a split lip and what would be a beautiful shiner as soon as it ripened. The dispatcher winced.
"Hey," Lyndon said, "you should see the other guy."
"Yeah?" she asked, "Where is he?"
Lyndon, thinking about the serious damage the other man suffered, frowned. "He's on his way to the hospital."
"Really? Is this one pro-Jimmy or con?" the dispatcher asked.
"This one's con."
"When you've got him booked, put him in the far cell," the dispatcher instructed.
"It's getting crowded. Why not the middle one?" Lyndon asked.
"Because we don't need another fight through the bars."
"Did that happen?"
"Sure did. So the pros go in the first cell, the cons in the third one and anyone else in the middle cell." Shaking her head because the whole thing seemed like a waste and a mistake, a real tempest in a tea cup that was spilling over into the broader world, she asked, "Whose idea was this anyway?"
"Hey, they raised over ten thousand dollars for the Lions Club to buy eyeglasses for kids who won't get them otherwise," Lyndon said.
Shaking her head again, the dispatcher said, "Look at the trouble it's causing. Are you sure it's worth it? The debate happened three nights ago and it's still being argued about. Have you seen the front page of the Times?"
Lyndon shrugged. "Not today's."
The dispatcher held up the front page. The headline read, "Jimmy Dick agrees to a rematch."
"Shoot," Lyndon said. "This is never going to calm down now.
****
"Hey, Debbie, how's it going?" Joseph Daoud asked as he walked into the office of the Grantville Times.
At the sound of his voice a grin blossomed on Debbie Mora's face. "Great, and getting better. Thank you for coming in on short notice."
"Hey, when you get a call from the chief of police telling you to meet him somewhere to see somebody A.S.A.P. then you get yourself there as soon as possible. What's up?"
"Don't know for sure, though I think I've got a good idea. I'd rather not speculate. Let's wait for Chief Richards to get here. I guess he called me before he called you. I told him since I was brown-bagging it, I'd be in the office all day."
A police cruiser pulled up to the curb, cruisers and emergency vehicles being the only exceptions to ban on vehicular, daylight traffic in the downtown area.
"You saw yesterday's front page?" Deb asked Joseph.
"Sure. You got the rematch you wanted. I've got to admit you had more of an actual debate going on in the paper than we ever did on stage. I think they could have gone on forever trying to decide just how unfair it was and to whom it was more unfair."
"Yes, we do have quite a debate going, but I meant the headline. Besides, now the debate is pointless."
"I liked the day before yesterday's better. 'Civil Unrest and Uncivil Disagreements?'"
The chief came through the door. He nodded to Debbie. "Joseph, thank you for coming in early like this. We need something done and since you created this mess, I figured you ought to be the one to clean it up."