CHAPTER XXXV
IN A TIGHT PLACE
“Well, if this doesn’t beat any adventure ever had outside the Arabian Nights, I’ll eat a Zeppelin alive,” Phil mused with all the pep of an ejaculation. “If somebody doesn’t clear up the mystery of this amorphous monster of a man pretty soon, I’ll bu’st.”
It surely was a confusing situation, with a puzzling personality to add to the bewilderment. Phil would gladly have dismissed the subject from his mind if such thing had been possible, but he soon found this out of the question, so he attempted to quiet his nerves by venturing a conversation with his captor. He decided to make this attempt by an appeal to the unmistakable vanity of “the count.”
“May I ask you how it happens that you speak the American language so well?” he inquired.
Topoff turned quickly toward the boy and fired back at him in his usual high-pitched tone of voice:
“May I ask you why you call it the American language instead of the English?”
“I suppose I may as well tell you the truth,” Phil answered, somewhat crestfallen. “I thought I’d be more likely to get an answer out of you if I steered clear of that word English. I understand you people hate the English worse than anything else in the world.”
“Right you are, boy, right you are,” was the vehement reply of the big boche. “I hate them worse than poison, as does every other true subject of the kaiser. That was good diplomacy on your part, but it didn’t work on me, did it? Did you see how quickly I called you for it?”
“Yes, I did, and I’m not going to try anything on you again. But may I repeat my question? You speak the best of English, and your accent is perfect. How did you do it?”
“That isn’t the only mystery about me that is puzzling you, is it?” returned Topoff sharply.