The Forbidden Trail

"I'm sure you're safe on that," insisted Ernest.

"I think I am," agreed Roger, "and now, Ernest, I want to know how I can square up with you for my attack on you the other night."

Ernest looked up at Roger and the sullen look which even his tears had not washed out lifted a little.

"You mean--?" he asked.

"I mean that I had no business attacking you as I did. It was a rotten trick and I'm ashamed and sorry. My temper has been a brutal thing and you've always put up with it. If we can clear this thing up, I'm going to do better by you, Ern."

There was a curious look in Ernest's beautiful eyes. "Do you know, I hoped for twenty years you'd get to see yourself in that light," he spoke thoughtfully. "What you've just said does away with any resentment I may have had about your temper, Roger. As for the other thing--" He paused.

"Ern, how could you do it?" asked Roger huskily.

"Before heaven, Roger, I did it solely for love of you. And you know I was brought up on admiration of Germany. I honestly thought that we could make you see it as I do. I've been seeing for days what a skunk trick it must have looked to you, but this obstinate streak in me wouldn't let me give up until Werner slanged America. Rog, I'll make it up to you somehow so you'll trust me again! See if I don't!"

"I'll trust you fast enough, old man, if you'll assure me that you're through with this superman stuff. Are you an American or a German, Ern?"

With a smile of extraordinary sweetness, Ernest put a hand on Roger's shoulder and said in a voice of utter sincerity, "I'm whatever you are, Roger. Thy country shall be my country and thy God, my God. After all, what is a man's country but the place of his loves and his friendships? And America has all of mine, Roger, all of mine."

The two men stood in silence after this until Roger said, brokenly, "Thank you, Ernest, you've made a new man of me."

"And now," said Ernest, briskly, "being considerably worse in debt than ever, the question before the house is whom do we do next?"

"I don't know! I swear I don't," Roger sighed, as he took one of Ernest's cigarettes.

Ernest gave a scornful laugh. "He doesn't know! the poor little woolly lamb! He doesn't know! with a plant such as is now established in the Prebles' backyard! Why, man, I could sell that to an Egyptian mummy."