"Then, in other words, Tomba, you are not even a Filipino patriot. You are merely a twentieth-century type of pirate."
"If you like the word," replied Tomba, in a tone of indifference.
Then he yawned—next placed the creese on the ground beside him, while his right hand explored his pockets. He soon brought to light a package of Manila cigarettes. Tomba's left hand produced a box of matches.
"Do you care for one last smoke, Señor Sergente?" inquired the Filipino with mocking politeness, as he held out the package.
"Thank you; I never picked up the vice," Sergeant Hal answered, but he said it good-naturedly, for he had an object now in not provoking the enemy.
"So? You call smoking a vice?"
"The vice of pigs," declared Hal, but again he laughed good-humoredly.
"Oh, I do not mind your insolence," replied Tomba, striking a match and holding it to the end of the cigarette in his mouth. "Abuse me all you please, Señor Sergente."
"Thank you!"
Hal had had a desperate motive in gaining time by prolonging the talk. As he lay on his side before the Filipino the young soldier had at last employed his fingers in a way that he hoped would lead to his being able to free his hands. And now the instant had come! His hands were free!