“Vel, Meester Plake,” said he, in the pompous tone which a conceited and well-to-do German knows how to use better than anybody else, “I peen glad to see you. I did think you would be too late for the tinner.”
“Mr. Bambreen,” replied Blake, “you and your men have been imposed upon. Did your company give escort to the students who came in a little while ago?” he added, turning to one of the firemen.
“We did,” answered the latter. “We heard they were coming, and thought it would be polite to show them a little respect.”
“You were very kind, I am sure, but the trouble is, you showed respect to the wrong fellows. They are frauds, the whole of them. They have no right to that dinner. It’s ours, and we have come after it.”
“And won’t there be any dance to-night?” exclaimed the fireman. He didn’t quite understand what Blake said about the dinner, but he saw that he and his company had been duped in some way, and he was all ready to get mad about it.
“There will be no dance here,” answered the chairman, “but there will be one in Hamilton. We are going right back, and as this band belongs to us, we shall take it with us.”
“And did those soldiers invite us to the table, and tell us to go out and get our girls, knowing all the while that they had no right to do it?” demanded the fireman.
Blake and his friends were greatly amazed. They had never dreamed that the conspirators would have the hardihood to do anything like this. Blake began to tremble for their safety. The fireman was indignant, so were his companions, a dozen of whom had gathered around, and the band-master was angry clear to the top of his bearskin cap, which seemed to bristle all over with rage. He wanted to say something, and as he could not do the subject justice in English, he broke out into a volley of German ejaculations that could have been heard a block away. He addressed his remarks to his men, who replied in the same language, and Blake understood just enough of what they said to satisfy him that instead of forcing a fight upon the conspirators, as Forester had time and again urged him to do, it would be his duty to protect them from violence.
“Where are those cadets now?” he asked of the fireman.
“Over at the hotel, fixing up the dining-room,” was the reply. “Boys,” he added, turning to the red-shirted fellows who stood behind him, “let’s go over there and pitch the last one of them through the windows.”