“Very well; I can talk here better than anywhere else.”
When the motor began its racket, Courtlandt pulled the colonel over to him.
“Do you know what you have done?”
“Done?” dropping his eye-glass.
“Yes. Knowing that Abbott would have no earthly chance against the Italian, I went to him and forced him to write an apology. And you have blown the whole thing higher than a kite.”
The colonel’s eyes bulged. “Dem it, why didn’t the young fool tell me?”
“Your hurry probably rattled him. But what are we going to do? I’m not going to have the boy hurt. I love him as a brother; though, just now, he regards me as a mortal enemy. Perhaps I am,” moodily. “I have deceived him, and somehow—blindly it is true—he knows it. I am as full of deceit as a pomegranate is of seeds.”
“Have him send another apology.”
“The Barone is thoroughly enraged. He would refuse to accept it, and said so.”
“Well, dem me for a well-meaning meddler!”