"What do you mean, Lassen? I'm only asking to see what this man has written about me," said von Erstein, trying to fool me with an appearance of calmness, while he took his handkerchief out of the pocket of his overcoat—a suspiciously bulky handkerchief which he handled very gingerly.
"You may as well lay that thing on the table, beloved. I'm too old for that game."
He tried to laugh and suddenly grabbed the handkerchief with his left hand to free the revolver it was concealing. He bungled over it, and before he succeeded I had him covered. "I told you to put it on the table. If you lift it so much as an inch, I'll put a bullet in your head," I cried.
What a coward he was! He went as white as a sheet, tossed the weapon on to the table, and put up his hands as a shield. "Don't, Lassen. Don't do anything like that," he stammered.
I laughed, picked up his revolver, and tossed mine across to him. "That's less dangerous for you, sweetheart; it's unloaded."
Still trembling, now with more mortification than fear, however, he dropped into a chair and strafed me with fine Teutonic hate.
I turned to his companion. "Now, get out, you. Do you hear?" for he hesitated, looking to his master for orders. "It'll be bad for that head of yours if I have to chuck you out. I'll give you one minute to clear." He was no stayer and slunk out in half the time; and I followed and shut the door after him.
When I got back to the room von Erstein was on his feet also ready to go. "Oh, don't hurry away, beloved; this is an excellent chance for a pretty little love scene. Mix yourself a drink, have a cigar, and be your own cheerful sprightly self."
The scowl which greeted this was a real gem.
"What a seraphic smile! No wonder that every one loves you so and worships the ground you tread on."