Brock’s answering shot was prompt.
“It is only that America refuses to be annexed,” he supplemented gravely. “We hope to bring her to terms in time.”
And Barth fell to kicking the turf in moody discontent. Nancy checked him.
“Don’t destroy the glacis of your chief American outpost, Mr. Barth. You may need it sometime to fight off the French from your possessions.”
Her words had been wholly free from any allegorical meaning. Nevertheless, Barth’s heels ground into the turf more viciously than ever, as he made grim answer,—
“Oh, we English need no artificial defenses to fight off the Frenchmen, you know.”
“Sic ’em!” Brock observed impartially. Then he snatched his hat from his head, and, forgetful of their differences, Barth and St. Jacques followed his lead.
Distant and faint from behind the sheltering wall came the strains of God Save the King, as the band marched back from practice.
“Strange to hear America up here!” Churchill said idly.
“America?” The Frenchman’s accent was inquiring.