“Accidents will happen, you know. A strong hand, or two of them, might find the way to your throat.”
“I hardly fear there is danger of that. A bullet is much swifter than human hands.”
Frank smiled as he handled his revolver.
“And do you know how to shoot?”
“Monsieur, there is a fly crawling toward the lobe of your left ear. If you will permit me, I’ll guarantee to shoot him off without breaking the skin on your ear, and then there will be no flies on you.”
Frank rested his elbow on the table, and pointed the revolver at Bruant.
Instantly the man held up those fearful hands, with the palms toward the young American, saying:
“I beg you will not shoot! Not that I fear harm, of course; but that is a pet fly of mine, and he has a way of crawling to the lobe of my left ear every evening at about this hour. If you were to destroy him, I should miss him very much.”
“That being the case, I would not think of harming him for the world; but, if you will turn your head, I’ll agree to brush the dust from your eyebrows without ruffling them in the least.”
“Monsieur, it would be easy to hit a large mark across a table, but could you hit a small mark across a room?”