He met Father Beret near Roussillon place, and feeling his ribs
squirm at sight of the priest, he accosted him insolently,
demanding information as to the whereabouts of the missing flag.
A priest may be good and true--Father Beret certainly was--and yet
have the strongest characteristics of a worldly man. This thing of
being bullied day after day, as had recently been the rule,
generated nothing to aid in removing a refractory desire from the
priest's heart--the worldly desire to repeat with great increment
of force the punch against Famsworth's lower ribs.
"I order you, sir, to produce that rebel flag," said Farnsworth.
"You will obey forthwith or take the consequences. I am no longer
in the humor to be trifled with. Do you understand?"
"I might be forced to obey you, if I could," said the priest,
drawing his robe about him; "but, as I have often told you, my
son, I do not know where the flag is or who took it. I do not even
suspect any person of taking it. All that I know about it is the
simple fact that it is gone."
Father Beret's manner and voice were very mild, but there must
have been a hint of sturdy defiance somewhere in them. At all
events Farnsworth was exasperated and fell into a white rage.
Perhaps it was the liquor he had been drinking that made him
suddenly desperate.
"You canting old fool!" he cried, "don't lie to me any longer; I
won't have it.
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