his hands were down, and he was neither standing nor sitting.
He was down and out, and lay across his bed stunned and motionless.
Into the perfect silence of the chambrée fell the voice of the Bucking Bronco. Solemnly he counted from one to ten, and then with a shout of "OUT!" threw his képi to the roof and roared "Hurrah!" repeatedly.
"Il ira loin," remarked Monsieur Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat, viewing Rupert's handiwork with experienced, professional eye.
Exclamatory oaths went up in all the languages of Europe.
"Il a fait de bon boulet," remarked a grinning greybeard known as "Tant-de-Soif" to the astounded and almost awe-stricken crowd.
But le Légionnaire Jean Boule looked ahead.
"You've made two bad enemies, my boy, I'm afraid…. What about when he comes round?"
"I'll give him some more, if I can," replied Rupert. "Don't interfere, anyhow."
"Shake, sonny," said the Bucking Bronco solemnly. "An' look at hyar. Let's interfere, to the extent o' makin' thet cunning coyote fight down in the squar'…. Yew won't hev no chance—so don't opine yew will—but yew'll hev' more chance than yew will right hyar…. Yew want space when you roughhouses with Loojey. Once he gits a holt on yew—yure monica's up. Savvy?"
"Thanks," replied the Englishman. "Right-ho! If he won't fight downstairs, tell him he can take the three of us."
