"Cut it," I growled. "She's a princess, Tommy, and that puts the kibosh on my dreams."
"Nell's a princess, too," he said gently, "and I still hang on. Tilt up your chin, Jack, and things'll squeeze through for us! We'll ship the old counterfeiter to prison, or kill him, and then——"
"And then," I said bitterly, turning to go below, "Princess Sylvia goes to the arms of some popinjay prince!"
But I had taken only a step when his hand fell on my shoulder like a piece of steel and whirled me around. There was nothing gentle in his voice this time as he sharply commanded:
"Look at me, you damn slacker, and let's see if I'm talking to the man I fought the Boche with!"
I must have appeared rather well indignant with him, for he gave a low, reassured laugh, adding:
"That's better. Now I want to say, once and for all—and I swear it on each of these stars, both for myself and Nell—that if we catch up with Princess Sylvia, and you let her be taken away, I'll punch your face into a jolly good pulp, so help me old Kentucky! Good night!"
"If you're man enough to do it," I yelled after him.
Fine old Tommy! I believe I loved him then better than ever before.