British Government has
taken away the Ross rifle from the Canadians and given them the regulation
weapon."

"So? Permit--that I examine, sir?"

Brown did not seem to hear him or notice the extended
hand--blunt-fingered, hairy, persistent.

The Professor, not discouraged, repeated: "Sir, _bitte darf ich_, may I be
permitted?" And Brown's eyes flashed back a lightning shaft of inquiry.
Then, carelessly smiling, he passed the Ross rifle over to the Herr
Professor; and, at the same time, drew toward him that gentleman's
silver-mounted weapon, and carelessly cocked it.

"Permit me," he murmured, balancing it innocently in the hollow of his
left arm, apparently preoccupied with admiration at the florid workmanship
of stock and guard. No movement that the Herr Professor made escaped him;
but presently he thought to himself--"The old dodo is absolutely
unsuspicious. My nerves are out of order.... What odd eyes that Fritz
has!"

When Herr Professor von Dresslin passed back the weapon Brown laid the
German sporting piece beside it with murmured complimentary comment.

"Yess," said the German, "such rifles kill when properly handled. We
Germans may cordially recommend them for our American--friends--" Here was
the slightest hesitation--"Pardon! I mean that we may safely guarantee
this rifle _to_ our friends."

Brown looked thoughtfully at the thick lenses of the spectacles. The
popeyes remained expressionless, utterly, Teutonically inscrutable. A big
heather bee came buzzing among the _alpenrosen_. Its droning hum resembled
the monotone of the Herr Professor.

Behind them Brown heard Stent saying: "Do you remember our ambition to
wear the laurels of Parnassus, Siurd? Do you remember our notes at the
lectures on the poets? And our ambition to write at least one deathless
poem apiece before we died?"

Von Glahn's dark eyes narrowed with merriment and his gentle laugh and
attractive voice sounded pleasantly in Brown's ears.

"You wrote at least _one_ famous poem to Rosa," he said, still laughing.

"To Rosa? Oh! Rosa of the Cafe Luitpold! By Jove I did, didn't I, Siurd?
How on earth did you ever remember that?"

"I thought it very pretty." He began to repeat aloud:

"Rosa with the winsome eyes,
When my beer you bring to me;
I can see through your disguise!
I my goddess recognize--
Hebe, young immortally,
Sweet nepenthe pouring me!"

Stent laughed outright:

"How funny to think of it now--and to think