Achmed Abdullah

“ Tom laughed.
"Mac," he said, "keep your shirt on. I am ..."
"Look here!" cut in a snarling, guttural German-American voice.
Tom turned. The speaker was Neumann, the young German bank clerk from New York, whom he had thrashed aboard the Augsburg.
"Yes?" inquired Tom gently.
"You have no right to that uniform, you damned Yankee! It's an outrage!" He turned to his compatriots. "I appeal to you, gentlemen. Es ist eine gemeine Schande!" Once more he addressed Tom, shouting at the top of his lungs. "You'll go to jail for that, you impostor! You have no right to wear the King's Coat!" ”

“ He was in splendid humor. The tip of his sword scabbard bumped behind him on the granite pavement. He liked the sound of it. He felt like on that morning before he had won the broncho busting medal at the Pendleton roundup: quite sure of himself, but without the least conceit. ”

“ That there uniform o' yourn!"
"I can't," answered Tom, a twinkle in his eyes. "It's against the military regulations to wear civilian dress without special permit."
"Tom! Tom, me boy!" implored the barkeeper, while the Americans and Englishmen crowded round, laughing, joking, and while the Germans, catching on to what was the matter, made audible remarks about "verfluchte Yankee Frechheit—cursed Yankee insolence."
"Tom!" went on McCaffrey, "don't ye know there's a German law ag'in the wearin' o' them duds without ye be entitled to it? Upon me sowl, they'll pinch ye sure an' send you to jug! ”