ngth. If he showed fight, Von Stoerer would calmly
saber him. It was the custom. But Max surprised me. He was the
coolest among us, but of that quality of coolness which did not
reassure me. He took up his story where he had left off and finished
it. For his remarkable control I could have taken him in my arms and
hugged him.

The officers scowled, while Von Stoerer bit his mustache nervously. The
American had ignored his insult. Presently he rose again and
approached. He thrust a card under Max's nose.

"Can you understand that?" he asked contemptuously.

Max took the card, ripped it into quarters and dropped these to the
floor. Then, to my terror and the terror of those with me, he
tranquilly pulled out a murderous-looking Colt and laid it beside his
plate. He went on talking, but none of us heard a word he said. We
were fearfully waiting to see him kill some one or be killed.

No one was killed. The officers hurriedly took down their sabers and
made a bee-line for the door of which I have spoken.

Max returned the revolver to his hip-pocket and gave vent to an Homeric
laugh.

"You tow-headed Dutchman!" I cried, when I found voice for my words,
"what have you done?"

"Done? Why, it looks as if we had all the downs this half," he replied
smartly. "Oh, the gun isn't loaded,"--confidentially.

Ellis fumbled in his pockets and produced his passports and tickets.
These he shoved over to Max.

"What's this for?" Max asked curiously.

"Ellis," said I, "it is very good of you. Max, take those. Mr. Ellis
wishes to save your hide. Take them and get to the station as quickly
as you can. And for the love of mercy, do not turn around till you're
over in Doppelkinn's vineyards."

"Well, I'm hanged if I understand!" he cried. "I'm a peaceful man. A
beggar walks up to me and slaps me in the face for nothing at all, and
now I must hike, eh? What the devil have I done now?"

Then, as briefly as I could, I explained the enormity of his offenses.
To take a chair from a table, as he had done, was a gross insult; to
receive a slap in the face and not to resent it, was another insult; to
tear up an opponent's visiting-card, still another; to take out a
revolver in Barscheit, unless you were an officer or had a permit, was
worse than an insult; it was a crime, punishable by long imprisonment.
They could accuse him of being either an anarchist or a socialist-red,
coming to Barscheit with the intent to kill