CHAPTER NINETEEN
"Such drilling as they have had—such little drilling!"
FIFTEEN minutes after Gloria Vanderman left us I saw a banner go jerkily mounting up the newly placed flag-pole on the keep. A man blew a bugle hairsef by way of a salute. I raised my hat. Monty raised his. In a moment we were all standing bare-headed, and the great square piece of cloth caught the wind that whistled between two crags of Beirut Dagh.
Fred, our arch-iconoclast, stood uncovered longest.
"Who the devil made it for you?" he inquired.
Stitched on the banner in colored cloth were the two wheat-sheaves and two ships of the Montdidiers, and a scroll stretched its length across the bottom, with the motto doubtless, although in the wind one could not read it.
"The women. Good of 'em, what? Miss Vanderman drew it on paper. They cut it out, and sat up last night sewing it."
"I suppose you know that's filibustering, to fly your private banner on foreign soil?"
"They may call it what they please," said Monty. "I can't well fly the flag of England, and Armenia has none yet. Let's go below, Fred, and see if there's any news."
"Yes, there is news," said Kagig, leading the way down. "I did not say it before the lady. It is not good news."
"That's the only kind that won't keep. Spit it out!" said Will.
303
