“It will soon be warm enough,” observed Jack. “The fire is gaining. Poor Washington Hall! It deserved a better fate than being burned down.”
“Look!” cried Sam, who had paused in his run to go to the telephone. “There’s Socrat.”
The French professor had joined his German colleague at the window, and both were struggling to climb out of it.
“Stand aside, German brute zat you aire!” exclaimed the Frenchman. “I must save ze glorious flag of la belle France! Let me toss it out of ze window!”
“I vill nottings of der kind do alretty yet!” responded Professor Garlach. “I vos here firstest!”
“Zen you are no gentlemans!” was Professor Socrat’s reply. “Bah! Sacre! Let me out, I demand of you! I am insult zat you should flout zat rag in my eyes!”
The wind had blown the German flag, which Professor Garlach held, into the face of the Frenchman.
“Rag! Hein! You call dot glorious flag a rag! Himmel! I vill of der mincemeat you make now!”
Professor Garlach made a grab for his enemy. To do so he lost his hold on his precious flag. It fluttered out of the window and to the ground.