I intimated that I had never met any.
“Now,” he proceeded, with an increased bitterness in his tone and his hard smile, “I use' thing you one good frien' to me, mais, you been makin' fool of me all that time!”
“You don't think any such thing,” I said.
“You know,” he went on, “who bounce our Fidèle?”
“No.”
Sorel received my reply with a low, incredulous laugh. Then he laid his hat down on the floor, drew his chair closer, held out his finger, and, with the air of one who shows another that he knows his secret he demanded:—
“ Qu'est-ce que c'est qu'un 'Boss'? ”
I sat silent for a moment, looking at him, not knowing just what to say.
“ Mais,” he went on, “all the Américains ” (they were chiefly Irish) “roun' my 'ouse been tellin' me, long time, ' Le Boss goin' bounce Fidèle.' Me, I laugh w'en they say so. I say, ' Le Boss? C'est un créature d'imagination, pour nous effrayer,' you know, make us scart ' C'est un loup-garou,' you know,—w'at make 'fraid li'l chil'ren. That's w'at I tell them. I thing then you would n't been makin' fool of me.'
“They don't know what they are talking about,” I said. “How can they know why Fidèle is removed?”