d him through the open window. He listened.

Smithy had cornered Shiney Black in the hotel yard, and, in his own
phrase, was puttin' 'im through the 'oop.

"You don't know it, Shiney, but you're reely a verdamd Henglishman," he
said, with an accurate reproduction of Von Halwig's manner if not his
accent. "The grite German nytion is abart ter roll yer in the mud, an'
wipe its big feet on yer tummy. You've awsked fer it long enough, an'
nah yer goin' ter git it in the neck. Blood an' sausage! The cheek o' a
silly little josser like you tellin' the Lord-'Igh-Cock-a-doodle-doo
that 'e can't boss everybody as 'e dam well likes! Shiney, you're done
in! The Keyser sez so, an' 'e ought ter know. W'y? That shows yer
miserable hignorance! The Keyser sez so, I tell yer, so none o' yer lip,
or I, Von Schmit, o' the Dirty 'Alf-Hundredth, will biff you on the
boko. But no! I must keep me 'air on. As you an' hevery hother verdamd
Henglishman will be snuffed aht before closin'-time, I shall grashiously
tell thee wot's wot an' 'oo's 'oo. Germany, the friend o' peace--no, you
blighter, not Chawlie Peace, the burglar, but the lydy in a nightie, wiv
a dove in one 'and an' a holive-branch in the other--Germany will wide
knee-deep in Belgian an' French ber-lud so as to 'and you the double
Nelson. By land an' sea an' pawcels post she'll rine fire an' brimstone
on your pore thick 'ead. What 'ave _you_ done, you'd like ter know? Wot
_'aven't_ you done? Aren't you alive? Wot crime can ekal that when the
Keyser said, 'Puff! aht--tallow-candle!' _Ach_, pig-dorg, I shpit on
yer!"

"You go an' wash yer fice once more, Smithy," said Shiney, forcing a
word in edgeways. "It'll improve your looks, per'aps. I dunno."

"That's done it," yelped Smithy, warming to his theme. "That's just yer
narsty, scoffin' British w'y o' speakin' to quiet, respectable Germans.
That's wot gets us mad. I'm surprised at yer, Shiney! Yer hattitude
brings tears to me heyes. Time an' agine you've 'eard ahr bee-utiful
langwidge----"

"I 'ave, indeed," interrupted Shiney. "But none o' it 'ere, me lad.
There's a reel born lydy in one o' them bedrooms."

"I'm not torkin' o' the kind of tosh _you_ hunderstand," retorted
Smithy. "I'm alludin' to the sweet-sahndin' langwidge o' our conquerors.
You've 'eard it hoffen enuf from the sorft mowves o' Yewlans. On'y larst
night you 'eard it spoke by that stawr hactor, Von 'Allwig, of the
Potsdam Busters. Yet you can git nothink orf yer