e, and more than once a
flush came into his face. He felt half-angry for a moment, and then
more than half-amused. A second later he seemed to have conjured up a
picture of himself dressed as the heavy German lady, the wife of this
baggy-breeched, spectacled German, represented by Henri, and the
picture set him laughing, softly at first, then, with his mouth wide
open, on the point of emitting a roar of mirth. Fortunately, however,
Jules caught him in the act, and, clapping one hand over his mouth,
arrested the sounds.

"Of course," he said, "if you want to shout and call in the whole crew
outside, well, do so; only give us a little time to make our exit
beforehand. I'm convinced now, after what Henri said, that you're
going to be a trouble to us. You're too big, too big and too heavy by
far to be smuggled through the country as a woman, and, 'pon my word,
in whatever disguise you are hid--if one can hide such a
monster--there's always the danger of your giving us away by ribald
laughter."

You might have expected the huge Stuart to boil over with anger after
such an outburst, and, indeed, Jules's indignant reproaches were
uttered with that purpose; but, as we have inferred before, this great
Englishman was not only big and strong and disgustingly healthy, the
envy of all in Ruhleben camp, the suspected of every German guard in
the place--for how could a fellow retain such proportions with such
attenuated diet?--but, boasting of an excellent digestion, the fellow
was seldom in an ill humour. Even when he grumbled and said scathing
things of the Germans, he was half laughing, and it required a very
great deal of annoyance indeed to rouse his passions. Yet the smallest
hint of disloyalty to Great Britain, the smallest slur cast on his
country's people, roused the giant in this fellow; then those muscles
of his were braced for action. And if Henry and Jules had previously
had any doubts as to his prowess, these were set at rest after they had
witnessed his manner of tackling that under-officer at the mouth of the
tunnel. But the friendly gibes of the merry Jules--this somewhat
dilapidated and war-worn Frenchman, this individual who had come to
Ruhleben camp months before as dapper as Henri, with clothes cut in the
masterful manner peculiar to your London tailor, with boots of
immaculate appearance, and socks which till then had been the envy of
many a youngster--could not rouse Stuart. He was above such petty