"That rose first; I insist upon having that rose till you have given me a satisfactory account of yourself."
Warburton reluctantly surrendered his treasure. Force of habit is a peculiar one. The colonel had no real authority to demand the rose; but Warburton would no more have thought of disobeying than of running away.
"You will give it back to me?"
"That remains to be seen. Go on; I am ready to follow you. And I do not want any dragging story, either." The colonel spoke impatiently.
Warburton led him into his room and turned on the light. The colonel seated himself on the edge of the cot and lighted a fresh cigar.
"Well, sir, out with it. I am waiting."
Warburton took several turns about the room. "I don't know how the deuce to begin, Colonel. It began with a joke that turned out wrong."
"Indeed?"—sarcastically. "Let me hear about this joke."
M'sieu Zhames dallied no longer, but plunged boldly into his narrative. Sometimes the colonel stared at him as if he beheld a species of lunatic absolutely new to him, sometimes he laughed silently, sometimes he frowned.
"That's all," said Zhames; and he stood watching the colonel with dread in his eyes.