“He says,” translated Billy, “he is here to see that I get my ten thousand francs, and that if I don’t get them in ten minutes he will return to the ship and land marines.”
To St. Clair it seemed as though the president received his statement as to the amount of his salary, with a disapproval that was hardly flattering. With the heel of his giant fist the president beat upon the table, his curls shook, his gorilla-like shoulders heaved.
In an explanatory aside Billy made this clear.
“He says,” he interpreted, “that you get more as an actor than he gets as president, and it makes him mad.”
“I can see it does myself,” whispered St. Clair. “And I don’t understand French, either.”
President Ham was protesting violently. It was outrageous, he exclaimed; it was inconceivable that a great republic should shake the Big Stick over the head of a small republic, and for a contemptible ten thousand francs.
“I will not believe,” he growled, “that this officer has authority to threaten me. You have deceived him. If he knew the truth, he would apologize. Tell him,” he roared suddenly, “that I DEMAND that he apologize!”
Billy felt like the man who, after jauntily forcing the fighting, unexpectedly gets a jolt on the chin that drops him to the canvas.
While the referee might have counted three Billy remained upon the canvas.
Then again he forced the fighting. Eagerly he turned to St. Clair.