Gethryn looked up startled.
“Keep cool,” whispered Thaxton; “if they think we’re Germans we’re done for.”
Carleton glanced nervously about. “How they stare,” he whispered. “Their eyes pop out of their heads as if they saw Bismarck.”
There was an ominous movement among the throng.
“Vive l’Anarchie! A bas les Prussiens!” yelled a beetle-browed Italian. “A bas les etrangers!”
“My friend,” said Clifford, pleasantly, “you’ve got a very vile accent yourself.”
“You’re a Prussian!” screamed the man.
Every one was now looking at them. Gethryn began to fume.
“I’ll thrash that cur if he says Prussian again,” said he.
“You’ll keep quiet, that’s what you’ll do,” growled Thaxton, looking anxiously at Rhodes.