“Now, Governor!” said Maynard, getting up out of his chair, “I’ve but one more request to make of you—that you will send out your servant to fetch me a cab.”
“Of course,” said Kossuth, touching a spring-bell that stood on the table of his studio.
A domestic made appearance—a girl, whose stolid German physiognomy Maynard seemed to distrust. Not that he disliked her looks; but she was not the thing for his purpose.
“Does your Excellency keep a man-servant?” he asked. “Excuse me for putting such a question?”
“Indeed, no, my dear captain! In my poor exiled state I do not feel justified. If it is only to fetch a cab, Gertrude can do it. She speaks English well enough for that.” Maynard once more glanced at the girl—still distrustingly. “Stay!” said Kossuth. “There’s a man comes to us in the evenings. Perhaps he is here now. Gertrude, is Karl Steiner in the kitchen?”
“Ya,” was the laconic answer.
“Tell him to come to me.”
Gertrude drew back, perhaps wondering why she was not considered smart enough to be sent for a hackney.
“He’s an intelligent fellow, this Karl,” said Kossuth, after the girl had gone out of the room. “He speaks English fluently, or you may talk to him in French; and you can also trust him with your confidence.”
Karl came in.