The schoolmaster
was the first to speak.
"I regret this," he began, and stopped, coughing.
"Just you shut the 'ole in yer fice," growled Ole Fred. Then, turning to
Louis, he became maudlinly soothing. "Look 'ere, mate, no young lady
likes to hear her father spoke of rough--even if he ain't her father, as
the saying goes. I do' know what the rah's abaht, but y' know, ole chap,
no man should make sin--sin--sinuation he can't prove--in black an'
white." He looked from one to the other with engaging earnestness.
"Life's--life's--slife's too short to quarrel, hearts are too precious to
break, so shake hands and kissh and kiss and be frien's, for ole time's
sake."
He was so overcome by the pathos of his own eloquence that he began to
sob brokenly, clinging to the red-haired man. "We alwiz bin mates, ain't
we?" he added, trying to shake hands with him. Fired by his example,
Louis made a grab at Marcella. He had entirely forgotten his fright, his
shame of a moment ago.
"Thass ri', Marsh--Marcella. Kith--kith--kisssh an' be fren's! Ah, oui,
oui, n'est ce pas? Ole Fred--no, no, Ole girl--voulez-vous coucher avec
moi?"
She looked at him, frowning. The unusual words--she had never heard
French words before--worried her: she never afterwards was able to hear
French without an acute sense of discomfort.
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