“Can’t say, I’m sure. I’m not in trade. But I’m not worried. I dare say we’ll still be on the map.”
Mr. Hassler’s excitement carried him away.
“Yes, you’ll be on the map!” he shouted, “as a German Provinz. We’ll stamp out a little of that damn arrogance.”
“I say, are you trying to be funny?”
“That damned British arrogance,” he went on, at the top of his voice. “You half-educated, half-trained, half-alive nation of money-greedy pigs——”
“I say!” cried Mr. Naylor again, puzzled and angry, “You’re going a bit too far!”
“PIGS!” shouted the young German.
Naylor sprang to his feet, as white with anger as the other was red; he was on the point of speaking when Frances caught his arm.
“Oh, please!” she entreated, and suddenly and helplessly, began to laugh.
“Oh, why do Germans always call people pigs!” she cried.