“Methinks that we have met before this time.”
If Phil had not been in his present condition of physical weakness, undoubtedly he would have observed with interest this evidence of a knowledge of English on the part of his captor. But it did occur to him with a sort of hazy giddiness that undoubtedly the fellow had understood his comment on the insufficient length of a bayonet to reach through the diameter of his girth. He was in just the condition of mind on the moment to face death with a sense of sickly humor.
“I suppose he’ll be taking a short cut measurement of my girth with a bayonet pretty soon if I don’t come to pretty quick,” was one of the ideas that whirled through the boy’s mind like a buzz-saw. “But he’s disposed to play with me a little, I take it from the kind of English he uses. Or is it because he got his knowledge of English by the study of stilted poetry at Heidelberg?”
“You played a nice trick on me and some of my comrades at Belleau Wood, didn’t you?” the boche of odd proportions continued. “Now what do you think I ought to do with you?”
“You ought to be very careful what you do,” Phil replied with a fair degree of energy, for the nausea was leaving him, although a severe headache was setting in. “Remember that you are surrounded now by my friends and if you take advantage of your temporary power over me, they’ll see to it that I’m fully avenged.”
“Oh, that isn’t bothering me,” returned “Count Topoff” with a wave of disgust. “What I’m thinking about is this: I can kill you very easily right now with your own bayonet. But suppose I spare your life—will you help me to escape?”
“How can I help you escape?” Phil inquired wonderingly. “I wouldn’t have charge of you as a prisoner. I don’t want to promise to help you, and then fall down on my promise.”
“Oh, I’ll figure out a way, never fear,” was the “count’s” answer. “All I want is your promise—but, hello, maybe I won’t need your help if I can hail this passing ship. Come on, I’m going to kidnap you on a tank.”
Before this speech was finished, Phil had observed the source of his captor’s new interest. It was indeed a tank, a very large one, of a design known to be peculiar to boche construction. It came crunching, rattle-blasting, “caterpillaring” along right toward them.
Topoff led his prisoner directly in front of the huge engine of war and stood there waving one hand as if signaling it to stop. Phil hardly expected the hail to receive any response, even though it came from a “kamerad” who was easily recognized by his uniform, but it did. The tank stopped within a few feet of them, a side door was thrown open and a man called out something in German to Phil’s captor.