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Yet what bade fair a moment ago to be a tragedy, seemed now to halt grotesquely. For Tournelli, throwing open his linen jacket with a melodramatic gesture, tapped his breast, and with flashing eyes and suppressed accents said, "Sare; you wantah me? Look I am herre!" The speculator leaned back in his chair in good-humored astonishment.
"Now Ah reckon Ah'se done got yo'," laughed the big negro, insolently. "It am a question ob w'ich one Ah wantah pick off fust!" In his wicked joy over having both the young engineer and the army officer wholly at his mercy Sambo, his mouth open and his massive teeth showing white in his grin, advanced nearer. Yet he did not fail to keep each of his enemies covered.
"On the gridiron, on the gridiron!" hummed Tom, audibly, as he tried clumsily to fit the words to the refrain of a popular song. Dick Prescott was "getting warm" on the scent of the hidden meaning. "Shut yo' mouf!" gruffly commanded the lack. "Ah doan' wantah tell yo' dat again, neider." "Right foot -high foot!" chanted Tom. Mentally Dick Prescott jumped as though he had been shot.
The lady's black eyes, without looking at Tournelli, glanced backward round the room, and slipped along our table, with half-defiant unconcern; and then she uttered a short hysterical laugh. "Ah! ze lady madame ze signora eh she wantah me?" continued Tournelli, leaning on the table with compressed fingers, and glaring at her. "Perhaps SHE wantah Tournelli eh?"
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