“He’s an artist, his name is Prince,” replied Sahwah.  “He’s a great friend of Agony’s father.”

“Is he a great friend of Hinpoha’s, too?” demanded the Captain.

“She thinks he’s the most wonderful man she ever met,” replied Sahwah.

The Captain scowled again, and caught a crab, showering Sahwah and Agony with drops from his oar.  “Excuse me!” he exclaimed, disgusted with himself.  “Oh, hang it all, anyway!” This last was uttered under his breath, but Sahwah’s sharp ear heard it.  “Do you think he’s so wonderful?” he demanded anxiously.  The Captain had a vast respect for Sahwah’s opinion in most matters.

“I don’t like him at all!” Sahwah burst out vehemently.  “He’s always smiling, and all I can think of is a grinning hyena!” Sahwah spoke with unnecessary vigor, but the remembrance of how he had laughed at Many Eyes still rankled in her bosom.

“Why, Sahwah!” exclaimed Agony in a shocked tone.  “How can you say such a thing?  I think he’s perfectly wonderful,” she added.  “So polished, and such charming manners.”

Here Sahwah created a diversion by dropping her hat overboard, and the artist was forgotten in the exciting business of rescuing it from the swiftly running current.

Hinpoha, beside herself with joy at the victory of Many Eyes, was boasting to the artist what a wonderful group the Winnebagos were.

“And that’s not all,” she said, as she finished the tale of their numerous achievements on land and water, “we’ve got a real live baroness in our group!”

“Indeed!” said the artist, nearly dropping his oar in his surprise.  “Which one is it?”

“Veronica,” replied Hinpoha, gratified at the impression this statement had made upon her listener, and then she launched into a detailed account of Veronica’s entire history, dwelling on the part where Veronica had played for the prince.

It was not until she was tucked into bed that night and was just dropping off to sleep that she remembered her promise not to tell anyone about Veronica.  “But it was perfectly all right to tell him” she said to herself, “he was so interested and so sympathetic.”  And she dropped off to sleep with never a qualm of conscience about her broken promise.

CHAPTER XII

THE COURT MARTIAL OF THE KAISER

“’Gee, ain’t it fierce, we ain’t got no flag to fight this here Revolution with!’” Agony, carrying a baseball bat at “shoulder arms,” paced slowly back and forth across the attic in the Wing home with an exaggerated military stride.  “Is that loud enough, Nyoda?” she asked.

“Yes, your voice is all right,” approved Nyoda, jabbing a pin into the large felt hat which she was transferring into a tricorn, “but don’t kick your feet straight up in front of you that way.  The American army didn’t goose-step, remember.  Try it again.  There, that’s better.