“Looking?” said the German with quite sincere perplexity. “You gome here looking for me?”
The wonder on the man's face at this unpremeditated jest of his having crossed the Atlantic especially to look for Gustave Schmidt titillated McDermott's whole being. But he did not laugh, and he let the German wonder. “And phwy sh'u'd I not?” he said.
The German thought intensely for a while. “Why should you gome all der vay agross der Adlandic looking for me?” he said finally.
“Ye have a short mimory,” said McDermott. “Ye do not recollict the time ye hit me on the head wid a bung starter whin I was too soused to defind m'silf? The scar is there yet, bad luck to ye!”
“But dot was nudding,” said the German. “Dot bung-starder business was all a bart of der day's vork.”
“But ye cript up behint me,” said McDermott; “an' me soused!”
“But dot was der bractical vay to do it,” said the German. “Dot was nuddings at all, dot bung-starder business. I haf forgodden it long ago!”
“The McDermotts remimber thim compliments longer,” said McDermott. “An' b' rights I sh'u'd give ye wan good clout wid this gun and be done wid ye. But I'm thinkin' I may be usin' ye otherwise.”
“You gome all der vay agross der Adlandic yoost because I hit you on der head mit a bung starder?” persisted the German, still wondering. “Dot, MagDermodd, I cannot belief—Nein!”
“And ye tore up y'r citizenship papers and come all the way across the Atlantic just to jine this gang av murtherin' child-killers,” said McDermott. “That I c'n belave! Yis!”