with the speed off the mark that they taught him on the playing field at Bowdoin. When we caught up he was standing astride a prostrate being who sobbed like a cow with its throat cut, and a Rajput and a German, either of them six feet tall, were considering whether or not to resent the violence of his interference. The German was disposed to yield to numbers. The Rajput not so.
"Why are you beating him ?" asked Monty.
"Gott in Himmel, who would not! He wrote of me in his diary—der Limnel!—that I shanghai laborers."
"Do you, or don't you?" asked Monty sweetly.
"Kreutz-blitzen! What is that to do with you—or with him? What right had he to write that people in France should pray for me in church?"
The Rajput all this while was standing simmering, as ready as a boar at bay to fight the lot of us, yet I thought with an air about him, too, of half-conscious surprise. Several times he took a half-pace forward to assert his right of chastisement, looked hard at Monty, and checked mid-stride.
"You've done enough," said Monty.
"Who are you that says so?" the German retorted.
"He - who - will - attend - to - it - that - you - do - no- more!" Monty's smooth voice had become without inflection.
"Bah! That is easy, isn't it? You are four to one!"
"Five to one!"
The Rajput's gruff throat thrilled with a new emotion. He sprang suddenly past me, and thrust himself between Monty and the German, who took advantage of the opportunity to walk away.
"Lord Montdidier, colonel sahib bahadur, burra salaam!"
