The old fellow was trembling with rage and indignation.  Ajax said gravely—­

“We foreigners mustn’t spit at free-born American citizens.  What spitting is done here, they do themselves.”

“You have right.  Ze canaille say to me, to me, ‘Come,’ he say, ’come, Baron, I have one six-shooter, one shot-gun, two pitchfork, three spade, and one mowing-machine.  Take your choice,’ he say, ‘and we can fight till ze cows come home!’ He use zose words, mes amis, ‘till ze cows come home!’ Tiens! Ze Frisian-Holstein cows, who go dry when zey do come home—­hein?”

He was so furiously angry that we dared not laugh, but we were consumed with curiosity to know what secret Dumble had stolen.  The Baron did not inform us.

Fortunately for our peace of mind, Dumble came to us early next morning.  He went to the marrow of the matter at once.

“Boys,” said he, “I want you to fix up things between me an’ that crazy Frenchman.  How’s that?  Your friend.  Wal, he is a Frenchy, an’ he’s crazy, as I’m prepared to prove.  But I don’t want no trouble with him.  He’s my neighbour, and there ought to be nothin’ between me an’ him.”

“There’ll always be a barbed wire fence,” said Ajax.

“Boys, when that ther’ pond o’ the Baron’s tuk to smellin’ like dead cats, he come to me and asks me to find someone to take keer o’ the bungalow.  I undertook the job myself.  I was to water them foreign plants o’ his, do odd chores, and sleep in the house nights.  He offered good pay, and I got a few dollars on account.  I aimed to treat the Baron right, as I treat all my neighbours.  I meant to do more, more than was agreed on.  That’s the right sperit—­ain’t it?  Yas.  An’ so, when I found out that there was a room in that ther’ bungalow locked up, by mistake as I presoomed, and that the key o’ the little parlour opened it, why, naterally, boys, I jest peaked in to see if everything was O.K.  As for pryin’ and spyin’, why sech an idee never entered my head.  Wal, I peaked in an’ I saw——­”

“Hold on,” said Ajax.  “What you saw is something which the Baron wished to be kept secret.”

“I reckon so, though why in thunder——­”

“Then keep it secret——­”

“But, mercy sakes!  I saw nothing, not a thing, boys, save two picters and a few old sticks of furniture.  An’ seeing that things was O.K., I shet the door, but doggone it! the cussed key wouldn’t lock it.  Nex’ morning the Baron found it open, and, Jeeroosalem!  I never seen a man git so mad.”

“And that’s all?”

“That’s all, but me an’ the Baron ain’t speakin’.”

We promised to do what we could, more, it must be confessed, on the Baron’s account than for the sake of old man Dumble.  Accordingly, we tried to persuade the Baron that his secret at any rate was still inviolate.  He listened incredulously.

“He says he saw nothing—­but some pictures and old furniture.”