“No doubt; but that, though difficult, is not impossible.”
“I hope not. Crispin, wake up, sir! You are thinking about Eunice again.”
“Indeed I am not,” answered Crispin, with some dismay. “I am thinking of my revolver, which I have left behind at the Acropolis.”
“There’s a warrior for you,” said the Demarch, with a hearty laugh; “he forgets the modern substitute for a shield. Well, my lad, as your revolver is an important matter, you had better go back and get it.”
Crispin jumped gayly to his feet.
“I’ll go at once,” he said, putting on his sombrero; “but I hope the battle will not begin without me.”
“I think you may make up your mind there will be no row till dawn, sir,” said Dick, who was peering between the bars of the palisade; “there would not be all that kick-up going on down there if they meant business.”
“In that case,” observed Maurice, rising slowly, “I think I’ll go back for your revolver, Crispin.”
“Or for your heart,” replied the poet, laughing.
“Oh, I don’t wish to bring that back, especially in wartime. It is safer with Helena. Uncle, can I go?”