ing an interest
in war contracts. She was with that Mrs. Benton, who pulled off that
spectacular deal for desiccated soups for Greece the other day. My
stomach is too delicate to feed soldiers dried dog and rotten cabbage
melted down into glue in a can, but they may like the idea if not the
soup. Anyway, the woman was a beauty, so don't you let her get you."

"I do not entirely understand you, my dear Madam, and I wish that I
might have many days to talk with you about these American customs," I
said as I put into my pocket the exchange money handed to me by the
_garcon_.

"Well, it is not exactly an American custom I have been putting you
next to, and I guess I'm patriotically glad that you don't entirely
understand. Now, I'm going to put you on the train for Old Harpeth and
kiss you good-bye for your mother. I'm not trusting Frigeda, and she's
lingering. Come on if your train leaves at six o'clock."

And while she spoke, my interesting and fine woman rose and allowed me
to assist her into her gray coat of tweed that was very like to mine.

It was with regret that I parted from that lady at the door of the
taxicab that had been called for her, and I bent over and kissed her
hand, the first woman that Mr. Robert Carruthers had ever so saluted.

"Good-bye, boy! Remember, the tall timbers of Harpeth are best. Run
right down and get a Southern belle and beauty to settle down and have
a dozen babies for you, just like 'befo' the war.' Good-bye! I'll send
you down a paper to-morrow. I don't suppose the New York journals ever
penetrate the Harpeth Valley. Good-bye again." And then my friend was
gone, leaving me once more alone in New York and very shy of those
tweed trousers, which I immediately put with me into another taxicab
which was directed to the Pennsylvania Station.

At that Pennsylvania Station I remembered to send to my wicked Uncle
an announcement by telegram of my arrival to him and then I got upon
the train just in time for its departure.

I have remarked that life is like high waves of fate that break in
sparkling white crests over buried mines, and I am now led to believe
that many of those mines are but the habitation of mermaids of much
mischief. Are all ripples on life due to women at the bottom of the
matter? I do not know, but it would seem true from the things that
immediately began to befall me. And was it not I, a woman who was
called daredevil, who began it all?

These Pullman cars of America