“It’s a mighty interesting story,” said the reporter. “If you don’t mind I’ll take another drink, and then a few notes.”
“I will join you,” said General Ludlow, with a courteous wave of his hand.
“If I were you,” advised the reporter, “I’d take that sparkler to Texas. Get on a cow ranch there, and the Pharisees—”
“Phansigars,” corrected the General.
“Oh, yes; the fancy guys would run up against a long horn every time they made a break.”
General Ludlow closed the diamond case and thrust it into his bosom.
“The spies of the tribe have found me out in New York,” he said, straightening his tall figure. “I’m familiar with the East Indian cast of countenance, and I know that my every movement is watched. They will undoubtedly attempt to rob and murder me here.”
“Here?” exclaimed the reporter, seizing the decanter and pouring out a liberal amount of its contents.
“At any moment,” said the General. “But as a soldier and a connoisseur I shall sell my life and my diamond as dearly as I can.”
At this point of the reporter’s story there is a certain vagueness, but it can be gathered that there was a loud crashing noise at the rear of the house they were in. General Ludlow buttoned his coat closely and sprang for the door. But the reporter clutched him firmly with one hand, while he held the decanter with the other.