A wave of intelligence crossed Pierre’s face; his eyes snapped fiercely.
“You have insult me,” he said, haughtily. “Very well—we see. Bah! And if he say anything to me,” indicating Norman by a wave of his hand, “I smack him in the face like this,” and Pierre smote the air with considerable force.
George looked at him for a moment in silence. Then the chauffeur’s ludicrous expression caused his own angry feelings to suddenly vanish; he burst into a hearty laugh, much to the astonishment and disgust of Pierre, and, picking up his suit case, walked toward the river.
“Hello, George! What’s the row?” asked Jack Lyons, from the deck of the “Gray Gull.” “Did you try your French on him again?”
“Wait a second, Jack; very glad to see you, Norman,” and the rich boy’s tone spoke of his sincerity. “Hello, what’s that duffer up to?”
Pierre, whose Latin blood was thoroughly aroused, had started forward.
“You have insult me!” he cried. “And for why?—For him,” pointing to Norman Redfern. “I no stand it, monsieur; your uncle shall hear—ma foi—he shall!”
“Duck him in the river, and cool him off,” advised Joe.
“Ha, you call me ‘duck,’ hey? And I say to you—‘goose’! Pouf! In the belle France, children no talk like that.”
“Oh, ring off,” remarked Joe, scornfully.