AT THE GOLDEN LION
music and singing from the Golden Lion. Again Mistitch banged the table.
"Listen there!" he said. "That's pleasant hearing while we're shut up like rats in a trap—and all Slavna laughing at us!"
Markart shrugged his shoulders and smoked in silence; to argue with the man was to court a quarrel; he began to repent of his well-meant visit. Mistitch drained his glass.
"But some of us have a bit of spirit left, and so Master Sergius shall see," he went on. He put out a great hand on either side and caught Sterkoff and Rastatz by their wrists. "We're the fellows to show him!" he cried.
Sterkoff seemed no bad choice for such an enterprise—a wiry, active fellow, with a determined, if disagreeable, face, and a nasty squint in his right eye. But Rastatz, with his slim figure, weak mouth, and high laugh, promised no great help; yet in him fear of Mistitch might overcome all other fear.
"Yes, we three 'II show him! And now"—he rose to his feet, dragging the pair up with him—"for a song and a bottle at the Golden Lion!"
Rastatz gasped, even Sterkoff started. Markart laughed: it could be nothing more than a mad joke. Cashiering was the least punishment which would await the act.
"Yes, we three together!" He released them for a moment and caught up his sword and cap. Then he seized Rastatz's wrist again and squeezed it savagely. "Come out of your trap with me, you rat!" he growled, in savage amusement at the young man's frightened face.
Sterkoff gained courage. "I'm with you, Her-
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