So he tried to comfort himself, sitting there alone, twisting his fingers and gulping now and then. All his fine, patriotic memories of the Slades were knocked in the head, but even in these lonely hours he was stanch for Uncle Sam. Uncle Sam might make a mistake--a terrible mistake, as he presently would do--"but anyway he's more important than I am," he said.
Occasionally he listened wistfully to the sounds outside and they made him wish he could see as well as hear. He heard the creaking of the busy pulleys, the men calling "Yo-o-ho!" as they handled the winch-ropes, the dull thud of the heavy bales upon the quay, the cheerful, lusty calls of the workers, the loud voices of the French people, and that incessant accompaniment of all, the clatter, clatter, clatter, of wooden shoes.
Sometimes he would lose his mastery of himself and regain it only to listen again, wistfully, longingly. He hoped those German prisoners who walked as if they were wound up with a key, noticed all this hurry and bustle. They would soon see what it meant for Uncle Sam.
There were voices outside and Tom's heart beat like a hammer. Could it be over so soon? The door opened a little and he could see that someone was holding the knob, talking to a soldier. He breathed heavily, his fingers were cold, but he stood up and looked straight before him, bravely. They had come to get him.
Then the door opened wider and a familiar voice greeted him.
"H'lo, Tommy. Well, well! Adventures never cease, huh?"
Tom stood gaping. Through dimmed eyes he saw a cigar (it seemed like the same cigar) cocked up in the corner of Mr. Conne's mouth and that queer, whimsical look on Mr. Conne's face.
"Mr. Conne----" he stammered. "I didn't know--you was--here. _You_ don't believe it, do you?"
Mr. Conne worked his cigar leisurely over to the other side of his mouth.
"That--I'm--a--a spy and--and a traitor." He almost whispered the words.
Mr. Conne smiled exasperatingly and hit him a rap on the shoulder. "Anybody accuse you of being that?"
"Oh, no, they don't, Tommy. But they've got to be careful. Don't you know they have?"
"So? Fancy that! Sit down here and tell me the whole business, Tommy. What's it all about?"
"They wouldn't have done anything with you till they saw me, Tommy. Even if they had to take you back to New York. Trouble was, Wessel's dying. How could they prove what you said about me getting you the job?"