“I will,” promised Bob. “I’ll speak to her as soon as she comes back. It might be, you know, that this fellow is some relation to the Germans the professor captured.”
“Not much chance of that,” declared Jerry. “This cocher or cochon doesn’t seem a bit like a Hun.”
“You never can tell,” remarked Ned. “We’d better find out all we can about him while we have the chance. If Professor Snodgrass is going to remain here it would be a good thing for him to know about this guy.”
“Here comes Marie now,” said Jerry. “Go at her again, Bob, and see if she can’t speak English.”
“I will,” agreed the stout youth.
When Marie again approached their table, in response to a beckoning signal, Bob began:
“Marie, de la cochon la petite cocher est le——”
“Oh, for cats’ sake!” cried Ned, “you’ll be worse tangled than before. Can’t you get some American words? Here, let me——”
But at that moment there came an interruption in the person of a member of the American military police who, thrusting his head into the restaurant, called:
“Anybody here that’s booked to go on the Sherman had better hike back to the dock. She’s going to sail soon.”