Outside there was a clatter of hoofs, the chink of the spur, intermingled with a few oaths; and then the two representatives of the King came in noisily. They gazed admiringly at Gretchen as she poured out their beer. She saw the rage in my eyes. She was aggravating with her promiscuous smiles. The elder officer noticed my bulldog pipe.
"English?" he inquired, indifferently. The German cannot disassociate an Englishman and a briarwood bulldog pipe.
"English," I answered discourteously. It mattered nothing to me whether he took me for an Englishman or a Zulu; either answered the purpose.
He wore an eyeglass, through which he surveyed me rather contemptuously.
"What is your name, fraulein?" he asked turning to Gretchen.
"Gretchen," sweetly.
"And what is the toll for a kiss?"
"Nothing," said Gretchen, looking at me. The lieutenant started for her, but she waved him off. "Nothing, Herr Lieutenant, because they are not for sale."
I moved closer to the bar.
"Out for a constitutional?" I asked, blowing the ash from the live coal in my pipe.