But that's as far as my ideas go."
"How about trusting us not to peach on you?" cried some one.
"You don't proffer that suggestion seriously," said Washington, with
an expression of scorn. "I did take out one man to teach my daughter
Italian. Last week he got away."
A wild yell of jubilation went up suddenly from two dozen throats and
a pandemonium of joy ensued. The prisoners clog-danced and cheered and
yodled and wrestled with one another in a sudden uprush of animal
spirits. They even ran up the glass sides of the bowl as far as they
could, and slid back to the bottom upon the natural cushions of their
bodies. The tall man started a song in which they all joined--
"_Oh, we'll hang the kaiser
On a sour apple-tree_--"
Braddock Washington sat in inscrutable silence until the song was
over.
"You see," he remarked, when he could gain a modicum of attention. "I
bear you no ill-will. I like to see you enjoying yourselves. That's
why I didn't tell you the whole story at once. The man--what was his
name? Critchtichiello?--was shot by some of my agents in fourteen
different places."
Not guessing that the places referred to were cities, the tumult of
rejoicing subsided immediately.
"Nevertheless," cried Washington with a touch of anger, "he tried to
run away. Do you expect me to take chances with any of you after an
experience like that?"
Again a series of ejaculations went up.
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