Bolshy put his head on one side, and said something deep in his throat to the picture.
Mr. Talker nodded to Samp, and each man put a hand on Bolshy's shoulder, and tried to propel him toward the veranda.
Bolshy stood firm, whereupon the Macedonian promptly laid him on the floor.
Bolshy was astonished. Getting up, and holding his precious picture so that he would not break the glass, he stared at the Macedonian as if to say, "Who are you that you can throw me down?"
Then he began to jabber to him in Russian and Samp replied in some foreign gibberish that delighted Bolshy so completely that he patted him on the back and stroked his cheeks.
The affair ended by Bolshy's insisting on shaking hands with Samp. Then he bowed deeply to everyone present, especially Mrs. Devering, and went up the road between the two men, talking most sociably to them.
"If you can, Mr. Talker," Mrs. Devering called after them, "make him understand that we do not care for midnight calls."
"And now, Mother," said Big Chief, "what's all this fuss about?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing much, my son. The Russian had an impulse to call on us."
"On us?" asked Big Chief, "or on him," and he pointed an accusing finger at the sleepy blinking Dallas, who was sitting straight up in bed.