“Yes, I guess so,” said Peter, still more
coldly.
“We show dem vot de money goes for—hey,
Comrade Gudge!” And Comrade Schnitzelmann chuckled,
and Peter said, quickly, “Well, good-bye,”
and without introducing his lady-love took her by the
arm and hurried away.
But alas, the damage had been done! They walked
for a minute or two amid ominous silence. Then
suddenly the manicurist stood still and confronted
Peter. “Mr. Gudge,” she demanded,
“what does that mean?”
And Peter of course could not answer. He did
not dare to meet her flashing eyes, but stood digging
the toe of his shoe into the path. “I want
to know what it means,” persisted the girl.
“Are you one of those Reds?”
And what could poor Peter say? How could he explain
his acquaintance with that Teutonic face and that
Teutonic accent?
The girl stamped her foot with impatient anger.
“So you’re one of those Reds! You’re
one of those pro-German traitors! You’re
an imposter, a spy!”
Peter was helpless with embarrassment and dismay.
“Miss Frisbie,” he began, “I can’t
explain—”
“Why can’t you explain? Why
can’t any honest man explain?”
“But—but—I’m not
what you think—it isn’t true!
I—I—” It was on the tip
of Peter’s tongue to say, “I’m a
patriot! I’m a 100% American, protecting
my country against these traitors!” But professional
honor sealed his tongue, and the little manicurist
stamped her foot again, and her eyes flashed with indignation.
“You dare to seek my acquaintance! You
dare to take me to church! Why—if
there was a policeman in sight, I’d report you,
I’d send you to jail!” And actually she
looked around for a policeman! But it is well
known that there never is a policeman in sight when
you look for one; so Miss Frisbie stamped her foot
again and snorted in Peter’s face. “Goodbye,
Comrade Gudge!” The emphasis she put upon
that word “comrade” would have frozen the
fieriest Red soul; and she turned with a swish of
her skirts and strode off, and Peter stood looking
mournfully at her little French heels going crunch,
crunch, crunch on the gravel path. When the heels
were clean gone out of sight, Peter sought out the
nearest bench and sat down and buried his face in
his hands, a picture of woe. Was there ever in
the world a man who had such persistent ill luck with
women?
These were days of world-agony, when people bought
the newspapers several times every day, and when crowds
gathered in front of bulletin boards, looking at the
big maps with little flags, and speculating, were
the Germans going to get to Paris, were they going
to get to the Channel and put France out of the war?
And then suddenly the Americans struck their first
blow, and hurled the Germans back at Chateau-Thierry,
and all America rose up with one shout of triumph!
