The officer seemed to be pretty well satisfied after he had examined the passports. At the same time he looked at the boys in an amused fashion.
“Which one of you is George Rollins?” he asked, somewhat to the astonishment of that worthy, who did not know what might be in store for him, honors or captivity.
“That’s my name, sir,” he spoke up, and, to the further surprise of the boys, the Austrian commander thrust out his hand.
“I want to shake hands with you, George,” he said.
“Y-yes, sir,” replied the other, still groping in the dark, and fearing that he might be perilously near the edge of a precipice.
“You wonder why I single you out from your companions,” continued the other, as George accepted his hand and received a cordial squeeze in return. “I’ll have to explain, I suppose. Did you ever hear your mother speak of a cousin who had married an Austrian gentleman many years ago?”
Then George found his tongue.
“Oh, yes, I certainly have heard her speak of her cousin Lucy, and the name of the gentleman she married was—let me see, Stanislaus!”
As George burst out triumphantly with this declaration he found his hand once more shaken and squeezed, while the commander of the monitor beamed upon him.