Part 27 (1/2)

”Mein Gott! You--!”

”Not so loud,” said Romayne quietly, ”unless you prefer an audience.”

”You schlap my face!” cried the German, in his rage losing perfect control of his accent. ”Ach, if you were only in my country, we could settle this in the only way.”

”Perhaps you will answer my question.” Romayne's voice was low and clear and very hard. ”Did you mean to call me a liar? Yes or no.”

”A liar,” replied the German, speaking more quietly. ”No, it is not a question of veracity. It is a question of historical accuracy.”

”Oh, very well. That's all.”

”No, it is not all,” exclaimed the German. ”My G.o.d, that I should have to take insult from you! In this country of barbarians there is no way of satisfaction except by the beastly, the savage method of fists, but some day we will show you schwein of England--”

”Stop!” Romayne's voice came across the water with a sharp ring like the tap of a hammer on steel. ”You cannot use your hands, I suppose? That saves you, but if you say any such words again in regard to England or Englishmen, I shall have to punish you.”

”Punish me!” shouted the German. ”Gott in Himmel, that I must bear this!”

”They are going to fight,” said Nora in an awed and horrified voice.

”Oh, Larry, do go over.”

”He-l-l-o,” cried Larry across the water. ”That you, Switzer? Who is that with you? Come along around here, won't you?”

There was a silence of some moments and then Romayne's voice came quietly across the water. ”That you, Gwynne? Rather late to come around, I think. I am off for home. Well, Switzer, that's all, I think, just now. I'll say good-night.” There was no reply from Switzer.

”You won't come then?” called Larry. ”Well, goodnight, both of you.”

”Good-night, good-night,” came from both men.

”Do you think they will fight?” said Nora.

”No, I think not. There's Switzer riding off now. What fools they are.”

”And Jack Romayne is so quiet and gentlemanly,” said Nora.

”Quiet, yes, and gentlemanly, yes too. But I guess he'd be what Sam calls a 'bad actor' in a fight. Oh, these men make me tired who can't have a difference of opinion but they must think of fighting.”

”Oh, Larry, I don't understand you a bit,” cried Nora. ”Of course they want to fight when they get full of rage. I would myself.”

”I believe you,” said Larry. ”You are a real Irish terrier. You are like father. I am a Quaker, or perhaps there's another word for it. I only hope I shall never be called on to prove just what I am. Come on, let's go in.”

For a half hour they swam leisurely to and fro in the moonlit water. But before they parted for the night Nora returned to the subject which they had been discussing.

”Larry, I don't believe you are a coward. I could not believe that of you,” she said pa.s.sionately; ”I think I would rather die.”

”Well, don't believe it then. I hope to G.o.d I am not, but then one can never tell. I cannot see myself hitting a man on the bare face, and as for killing a fellow being, I would much rather die myself. Is that being a coward?”

”But if that man,” breathed Nora hurriedly, for the household were asleep, ”if that man mad with l.u.s.t and rage were about to injure your mother or your sisters--”

”Ah,” said Larry, drawing in his breath quickly, ”that would be different, eh?”

”Good-night, you dear goose,” said his sister, kissing him quickly. ”I am not afraid for you.”