The consul saw in a flash the full military significance of this logic, and could not repress a smile. At which Captain Christian dropped easily into a chair beside him, and as easily into broken German English:—
“Und,” he went on, “dees town—dees Schlachtstadt is fine town, eh? Fine womens? Goot men? Und peer and sausage? Blenty to eat and trink, eh? Und you und te poys haf a gay times?”
The consul tried to recover his dignity. The waiter behind him, recognizing only the delightful mimicry of this adorable officer, was in fits of laughter. Nevertheless, the consul managed to say dryly:—
“And the barracks, the magazines, the commissariat, the details, the reserves of Schlachtstadt were very interesting?”
“Assuredly.”
“And Rheinfestung—its plans—its details, even its dangerous foundations by the river—they were to a soldier singularly instructive?”
“You have reason to say so,” said Captain Christian, curling his little mustache.
“And the fortress—you think?”
“Imprenable! Mais”—
The consul remembered General Adlerkreutz's “Zo-o,” and wondered.
UNCLE JIM AND UNCLE BILLY
They were partners. The avuncular title was bestowed on them by Cedar Camp, possibly in recognition of a certain matured good humor, quite distinct from the spasmodic exuberant spirits of its other members, and possibly from what, to its youthful sense, seemed their advanced ages—which must have been at least forty! They had also set habits even in their improvidence, lost incalculable and unpayable sums to each other over euchre regularly every evening, and inspected their sluice-boxes punctually every Saturday for repairs—which they never made. They even got to resemble each other, after the fashion of old married couples, or,
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