“Cochon! Cochon!” was the swift answer. “Oui! Cochon des cochons!”
“Um!” murmured Bob.
There was a moment’s silence, during which Marie moved off to serve another table.
“Well, what is he, a German spy?” asked Ned. “If he is, he has his nerve with him—showing up here after the armistice.”
“Yes, tell us what she said,” begged Jerry.
“Well,” returned Bob slowly, “you know the French language is very queer. It isn’t like any other language.”
“Oh, we know that all right!” exclaimed Ned. “You needn’t tell us that. Even though you may know a lot more about it than we do, it hasn’t taken us six months to appreciate the fact that it’s a mighty elusive way of conversing. But what I want to know, and what Jerry wants to know, is: What did Marie say that pepper-hash guy was?”
“Well,” confessed Bob, “that’s just it. If the French language didn’t have so many words in it that sound a lot alike, but mean a lot of different things, I could be sure. She called him a cochon.”
“A cochon of a cochon,” added Jerry.
“Yes, that’s what she did,” said Bob.