Digital heart book

I suppose that's what gave him
the idea for his picture. He has just been alleging
the pathetic excuse that she was old enough to be his
mother."
Something like a sob broke from Pinkerton. "Tell him,"
he gasped--"I can't speak this language, though I
understand a little; I never had any proper education--
tell him I'm going to punch his head."
"For God's sake do nothing of the sort!" I cried, "they
don't understand that sort of thing here"; and I tried
to bundle him out.
"Tell him first what we think of him," he objected.
"Let me tell him what he looks in the eyes of a pure-
minded American"
"Leave that to me," said I, thrusting Pinkerton clear
through the door.
"QU'EST-CE QU'IL A?"[1] inquired the student.
[1] "What's the matter with him?"
"MONSIEUR SE SENT MAL AU COEUR D'AVOIR TROP REGARDE
VOTRE CROUTE,"[2] said I, and made my escape, scarce
with dignity, at Pinkerton's heels.
[2] "The gentleman is sick at his stomach from having
looked too long at your daub."
"What did you say to him?" he asked.
"The only thing that he could feel," was my reply.


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