Nor did he seem to be
ashamed. He merely stared, with the curious and rather puzzled
eyes of a small boy gazing at an inexplicable oddity. Carrigan,
standing before him, knew what was passing in the other's mind,
and the humor of it brought a smile to his lips.
Instantly Concombre's face split into a wide grin. "MON DIEU, w'at
if you was on'y brother to Concombre Bateese, m'sieu. T'ink of
zat--you--me--FRERE D'ARMES! VENTRE SAINT GRIS, but we mak' all
fightin' men in nort' countree run lak rabbits ahead of ze fox!
OUI, we mak' gr-r-r-eat pair, m'sieu--you, w'at knock down
Bateese--an' Bateese, w'at keel polar bear wit hees naked hands,
w'at pull down trees, w'at chew flint w'en hees tobacco gone."
His voice had risen, and suddenly there came a laugh from outside
the door, and Concombre cut himself short and his mouth closed
with a snap. It was Joe Clamart who had laughed.
"I w'ip heem five time, an' now I w'ip heem seex!" hissed Bateese
in an undertone. "Two time each year I w'ip zat gargon Joe Clamart
so he understan' w'at good fightin' man ees. An' you will w'ip
heem, eh, m'sieu? Oui? An' I will breeng odder good fightin' mans
for you to w'ip--all w'at Concombre Bateese has w'ipped--ten,
dozen, forty--an' you w'ip se gran' bunch, m'sieu.
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