CHAPTER XXX.
FRANZ FRANCOISE’S GENERALSHIP.
When the three had returned to the outer room, Papa turned anxiously toward his hopeful son.
“Franz, my boy,” he began, in a quavering voice, “if there should be cops outside—”
“Ye’re the same whinin’ old coward, ain’t ye?” commented Franz, as he favored his father with a contemptuous glance. “I’ve seen a good many bad eggs, but blow me if I ever seed one like ye! Why, in the name o’ blazes, air ye more afraid of a cop than you’d be o’ the hangman?”
The mention of this last-named public benefactor, caused Papa to shiver violently, and Mamma bent upon him a look of scorn.
“Don’t be an idiot, Francoise,” she said, sharply. “We’ve got somethin’ to do besides shakin’ an’ shiverin’?”
“Time enough ter shiver when the hangman gits ye,” added Franz, reassuringly. “But ye needn’t fret about cops—I ain’t no baby; there ain’t no backers outside.”
“But, Franzy,—” began Papa.
“Shet up; I’m runnin’ this. If there’d a-been any help outside, we wouldn’t a-had it so easy, you old fool! That cove in there ain’t no coward; he’d a taken the chances with us, and blowed his horn when we first tackled him, if there’d been help handy.”