Argosy, Vol. 1 (December 9, 1882) — page 203: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

196 | THE ARGOSY. “ Parbleu, you're right, René,” chimed in a little subaltern, “and I only hope we are able to pick a quarrel with the States, too; we'd show ’em what it is to run up against real fighters. Faugh! What are those Americans but a nation of shopkeepers, any way!” The little dandy’s remarks were greeted with a chorus of approval, and Cottrell, with clenched hands and set teeth, was trying to decide which man he would knock down first when the engine whistled, and the train began to move slowly out of the station. “ Au revoir,” shouted the little subaltern, waving his cap. “I trust your call on mademoiselle will be more pleasant than the last one, and that papa is more generous with his hundred franc notes. Remember, you still owe me a bet of etghfy francs and I’m very hard vp.” These sallies called forth a volley of laughter from the little group at the station, and Rene scowled after them as the train bore him away. For several minutes he gazed out of the window, lost in reverie. Evi- dently his thoughts were not of the pleasantest, for the scowl deepened, and his eyes gleamed ferociously. Presently he turned away and fumbled about in his pocket till he hauled out a cigarette case; he helped himself, then suddenly recollecting his travel- ing’ companion, he held out the case to him with that inimitable politeness of the Frenchman which fits him so well and means so little. It was his im- pression that Cottrell was an English tourist. “ En voules vous?” he asked. The American leaned slightly forward and, looking the Frenchman straight in the eye he replied in a low, distinct voice, in French: “ No, I can- not accept. I am an American.” CHaptER [I.—TuHE First ADVENTURE. AT Cottrell’s words the Frenchman started as though he had been struck, and his face flushed darkly. The next instant he had regained his composure and lighted his cigarette with an airy flourish. ‘“ Really!’’ he observed, with a sneer. “ Then, I’m afraid—puff—puff— that you did not—puff—enjoy my remarks—puff—upon your esteemed countrymen.” Henry Cottrell was a man who knew the advantage of keeping his temper in an unpleasant situation. Soit was in an apparently calm voice that he next spoke. “T can’t understand the feelings of a man who carries politencss so far as to offer his cigarettes to an utter stranger and almost in the same breath in- sults a brave and noble race of men. Even with us shopkeepers—as you call us—we would not class such a man as a gentleman.” At this implication, delivered in such an even, everyday tone of voice, the lieutenant half started from his seat, the blue veins swelling on his fore- head. “Do you mean to insinuate that I am no gentleman?” he hissed, almost beside himself with rage. GONG OOO UN ceo