“Good!” said Alonzo. “Bill, you and Dick go in and bring out the prisoners. We’ll have some sport.”
The two men, nothing loth, jumped up and disappeared within the building. After some delay they reappeared, followed by Gates and Morton, and leading between them, bewildered and terrified, the massive figure of our Teutonic friend, Herr Schmidt. He gazed about him in evident affright, and ejaculated:
“What will you do mit me? Don’t kill me, goot gentlemen. I am only one poor Dutchman.”
“We won’t hurt you, mynheer,” said Alonzo, “that is if you obey our commands. You must dance a jig.”
“I cannot dance at all,” said Herr Schmidt in alarm. “Indeed I cannot, gentlemen.”
“Oh, you needn’t be particular about the steps, but dance you must. We are all going to dance. Jack, strike up a tune, and let the fun begin.”
CHAPTER XXXVII
HERR SCHMIDT DANCES.
THE FIDDLER struck up a lively polka. The members of the band, two by two, begun to dance. Gates, entering into the spirit of the joke, impressed Tom as a not unwilling partner, and Morton was seized by one of his captors and compelled to join in. But Herr Schmidt looked on stupidly, and stood motionless.