“I am sorry, Count von Hemelstein,” said the inventor, “to have offended you, and I beg that you will accept my most humble apology. We Americans, I fear, are too much inclined to let our sense of humour run away with us.”
The soldier raised his eyes with a threatening look, not knowing but that Edestone was still poking fun at him, or else, fearing the consequences of his rashness, was trying to ingratiate himself with his jailer. But after that glance at Edestone’s face he felt confident that his apology was sincere. The Prussian’s pride was too deeply wounded, however, for him to give in at once.
“I am glad, Mr. Edestone,” he replied stiffly, “that you realize that it is not customary to speak lightly of Germany in the presence of one of her officers.”
“I know,” exclaimed Edestone, “it was extremely bad taste for me to criticize a civilization so much older than my own, but you will,” he smiled, “forgive the cowboy I am sure when he tells you he is sorry.” Then seeing by the expression of the officer’s face that he had won the day: “Come now, Count von Hemelstein, let’s be friends. I would not have liked you had you not resented my remarks, and I was a cad to take advantage of your absolutely defenceless position.”
The Count broke out into a hearty laugh, and jumping up took Edestone’s extended hand.
“You Americans,” he vowed, all traces of his ill-feeling gone, “are the most remarkable chaps. I never saw a cowboy, but if they are anything like you they must be descended from some branch of the Hohenzollern family.”
“No, I cannot claim that distinction,” laughed Edestone; “but I think perhaps there are many cowboys who if they knew and knowing cared to could boast of as distinguished a lineage. Did you ever breed dogs, Count? Well, if you have, you would know that the good points of the champion do not always appear in the oldest son of the oldest son, but spring up where we least expect to find them. And so it is I think with men; the good points are in the blood and will appear long after the man has lost his family tree. Sometimes they appear in individuals who show so strongly the traits of the champion that they scorn the existence of musty documents to tell them who they are.”
“Then, Mr. Edestone, you do not believe in our method of keeping our best blood where it belongs—at the top?”
“Yes, I do most thoroughly approve of some of your methods. They are perhaps the best that have yet been devised, but you have not yet found the true method of following the centre of the stream. You sometimes dip from an eddy, simply because you believe that at some time it might have been in the middle, and you allow the deep dark red torrent to carry its saturated solution by you.”
“Well, Mr. Edestone,” the Count smiled, “whether you are descended from a cowboy king or a business baron, you are deuced good company. I am glad that if I am to be cooped up here for two days it is with you instead of some conceited English duke, whose English grandfather was a fool and whose American grandfather was a knave—oh, I beg pardon. I am like poor little Alice in Wonderland when she was talking with the mouse. I seem always to insist upon talking about cats.”