“Well, really, Fred, old fellow,” said the doctor, “I must take Frank’s part. You certainly did say sausage. I suppose it was suggested by the common association of the two words, German sausage.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the professor slowly; “suppose then I must. German silver—German band—German tinder—German sausage. But I meant to say German gentleman, upon my word.”
“Nobody doubts you,” said Frank; “but why did you call him a fool?”
“Oh! for saying that Harry couldn’t escape. Do you both mean to tell me that an Englishman, and such an Englishman as our Harry Frere, couldn’t do what a German has done?”
“I don’t,” said the doctor, bringing his fist down upon the table. “Come, Franky, lad, what have you to say to that?”
“Hah!” sighed the young man sadly, “it is easily accounted for. My German friend managed to gain the confidence of the Khalifa from his knowledge of Arabic, and was freed from the chains he first wore. Poor Harry was wearing heavy irons up to the day when my new friend left.”
“Oh!” groaned the professor, “that’s bad, that’s bad. Frank, boy, I beg your German friend’s pardon. He isn’t a—”
“Sausage!” put in the doctor quickly.
“A fool,” said the professor, shaking his fist playfully at his old school-fellow. “Well, I feel ten years younger than I did half an hour ago, and this settles it at once.”
“Settles what?” said the doctor.