“The fact that I was intoxicated was due in large measure to the very gentleman I am now addressing, who would not—”
“You need not go into such details,” Borgert interrupted him. “You do not seem to understand the gravity of your offence, and it seems necessary that I should enlighten you as a younger comrade on that point.”
Pommer felt indignant at this hypocritical lecture, but before he could reply to it Borgert continued:
“Your offence is the most serious against comradeship which can be conceived. Really, it would be my duty to call the attention of the lady’s husband to it if I did not trust in your sense of honor to rectify the matter before any more mischief is done. If you will promise me to go at once and ask the lady’s pardon, and to do all in your power to avoid any further cause for scandal, I will on my part forbear to mention what I saw. You must know, of course, that to tell Captain Kahle would mean a challenge, a duel, your enforced resignation from the army, and maybe your death,—for he is a good shot.”
Borgert was very dramatic as he said this. The rôle of an austere prophet, calling a sinner to repentance and amends, had all the spice of novelty for him. Inwardly he smiled at himself, but outwardly he drew up his tall, sinewy frame to its full height, and cast a hypnotizing stare at the man before him, now slowly recovering his usual sober frame of mind. And as the sense of his wrong-doing began to overpower poor Pommer, he bowed his towzled head in misery. Two big tears crept slowly down his tanned cheeks.
Borgert went on:
“It is, of course, your duty to go at once to the outraged husband as well, and to confess your guilt. As I know Captain Kahle, he is not the man to withstand a direct appeal to his clemency if couched in appropriately contrite terms. If you will pledge me your word of honor to do as requested and to obtain the pardon of husband and wife, you may count on my silence.”
Pommer glanced up. Tumultuous feelings were surging in his breast, and so rapid had been the revulsion from his first sentiments when Borgert had opened the conversation, that what was now uppermost in his mind was gratitude for this discreet and wise friend. He rose, and with a pathetic gesture stretched forth his great paw.
“Here is my hand,” he said, with a hitch in his voice. “I promise.”
Borgert clasped it a moment.