“Others might not be so able to escape.”
“Of course I’m wholly wrong, and my training and traditions are absurdly old-fashioned, but I’ve been brought up to believe that the American who will run from a fight, or who will not stand up at home or abroad for American rights, American womanhood, and the American flag, isn’t a man.”
“Oh, keep it for the Fourth of July,” returned Perkins wearily. “You can’t get me into a fight.”
“Fight?” Carroll laughed shortly. “If you had the traditions of a gentleman, you would not require any more provocation.”
“If I had the traditions of a deranged doodle bug, I’d go around hunting trouble in a country that is full of it for foreigners—even those who behave themselves like sane human beings.”
“Meaning, perhaps, that I’m not a sane human being?” inquired the Southerner.
“Do you think you act like it? To satisfy your own petty vanity of courage, you’d involve all of us in difficulties of which you know nothing. We’re living over a powder magazine here, and you want to light matches to show what a hero you are. Traditions! Don’t you talk to me about traditions! If you can serve your country or a woman better by running away than by fighting, the sensible thing to do is to run away. The best thing you can do is to keep quiet and let Von Plaanden drop. Otherwise, you’ll have Miss Brewster the center of—”
“Keep your tongue from that lady’s name!” warned Carroll.
“You’re giving a good many orders,” said the other slowly. “But I’ll do almost anything just now to keep you peaceable, and to convince you that you must let Von Plaanden strictly alone.”
“Just as surely as I meet him,” said the Southerner ominously, “on my word of honor—”