“Are you Schaack?”
“Yes, I am Schaack.”
“You sent for me to squeal, did you?”
He instantly pulled out a big jack-knife, and, handing it out towards me, he continued:
“Take this and cut my head off.”
He twice repeated the request, and, still holding out his extended hand, said:
“I will never squeal; you can kill me first.”
“I heard that you were crazy,” said I, “but I never thought you were quite so bad as this. You must suffer terribly. The weather is too warm for you. I think you had better go down stairs and have a glass of ice water.”
“No,” vehemently responded Johannes, “we had better settle this matter right now. I want to go out a free man, or else you will have to carry me out of here a dead man. I would thank you, however, for a glass of water, but don’t put me down stairs. I have heard too much of that place already.”
“Oh,” said I, “it is not a bad place. Just go down and see for yourself. You will like the place; it is nice and cool.”