So it was at once apparent on whose side Comber was, and everyone trimmed their sails accordingly. If one disliked Comber sufficiently and was not afraid of him, one would, of course, for the moment, side with Traill; and supposing one wished to get into Comber's good graces (no easy thing to do), here would be an excellent opportunity. M. Pons, for instance, thought so.
“It is—dégoûtant,” he cried, waving his hands in the air, “that a young man, that is here one month, two months, should catch the throat of his senior. These things,” he added with the air of one who waves gloriously the flag of the Republic, “are not done in my country.”
“Well, when they are, perhaps you 'll be able to judge of them better, Pons,” said Birkland. “Until then, I should recommend silence.”
M. Pons flushed angrily, but made no reply, and then looked appealingly at Comber.
“Of course, Birkland,” said Comber, “if you are going to encourage that sort of spirit in the staff, one has nothing to say. I daresay you would like all the boys to be springing at one another's throats in the same way; if that's what you want, well—“; and he waved his hands expressively.
“It's absurd,” said Birkland quietly, “of Perrin to have made such a fuss. As if a man mayn't borrow another man's umbrella without being struck in the face. It's more than absurd, it's childish. It's just the sort of thing that Perrin would do.”
“Very well,” said Comber; “let Perrin treat you in the way that Traill's treated him, and you see what you'd say and do. All I know is that you would n't stand it for a minute, you of all men, Birkland.”
“What do you mean by that?” Birkland said hotly.
“Oh, well, we all know you haven't got the sweetest of tempers, old man,” Comber said laughing. “You can't lay claim to good temper whatever else you may have.”
West laughed also and seemed to enjoy the joke immensely.