The stranger spoke in a voice so low that, from their hiding place, the boys could make out but a few words. Frischette spoke again:
“Et ees tonight.”
The old man shook his head vigorously, gesturing with his hands. The Frenchman raised his voice: “Et ees tonight, I tell you. You will do as I say.”
This time they heard the protest:
“No, no; I cannot come. Tonight I have other work. I cannot be there. I refuse to do as you wish, Frischette, even for the sake of gain.”
The Frenchman’s face grew suddenly crimson with fury. He stooped and picked up a club, advancing threateningly.
“I see ’bout that,” he fairly shouted. “I see ’bout that pretty queek. You try fail me, m’sieur, I make you sorry.”
The other did not blink. He faced his antagonist calmly, scornfully, presently breaking into an amused chuckle.
“You couldn’t hurt a fly. You are a coward, Frischette. I, an old man, have far more courage than you.”
The road-house keeper’s sudden flare of fury quickly burned out. He dropped his club and stepped back several paces, hugging his treasure to him. Before the unwavering gaze of the old man he was helpless, and possibly a little afraid. He glanced about sullenly.