Cheerio had won three games in succession, when he suggested that his opponent should be allowed a handicap. P. D. received this generous suggestion with hostility and fury.
“What for? What for? Because you win a damnation game or two, do you mean to insinuate that I am out of your class?”
“Nn-n-not at all, sir,” stammered Cheerio, “b-b-but you see, I’ve a b-b-bit of an advantage over you, sir. B-b-been playing ch-chess for a long time b-b-before coming to the ranch.”
It was true enough, P. D. admitted, that he was off his game on account of having had “only children and amateurs” to play with. Nevertheless he had not fallen to the damned handicap class. There were thirty-one days in the month; they had been playing but ten inconclusive and insignificant days; he was neither a cripple nor a moron and he’d give his opponent a dashed stiff fight before he was through with him, and he asked for no quarter whatsoever now.
The fierceness with which the old man took his well-meaning suggestion caused Cheerio to stammer further explanations. During his recent stay in Germany, so he said, he had played constantly, and the Germans were excellent players.
This was the first intimation that he had been in Germany, and the information passed over P. D.’s head as of no especial interest, but Hilda’s eyes narrowed and she began to speculate upon the cause of his presence in their late enemy’s country. From day to day, Hilda had been hardening her heart more and more against him and she was ready to believe the worst. Hilda had her opinion of a man who pretended to be a cowpuncher, who wore a piece of jewellery dangling from a black fob at his waist. She despised the type of man, so she told herself, who carried a woman’s face in a locket. Only a “sissy” would do an asinine and slushy thing like that, and sissies were not popular in the ranching country. However, apparently unconscious of, or indifferent to, her glance of scorn at the despised locket, he continued daily to wear it, and quite often, right before her eyes, even lovingly and tenderly toyed with it.
“What were you doing in Germany?” queried Sandy, pop-eyed with interest.
Cheerio moved uneasily, thrust his hand through his hair, looked dashed and worried, and shook his head.
“When were you there?” persisted Sandy. “Was it when the war was on?”
“Y-y-y-yes, I believe it was,” admitted Cheerio, uncertainly.