rotten little newspaper in
Bridgeboro had a big headliner about me disappearing--'_never seen
after leaving Camp Dix; whereabouts a mystery_'--that's what it said,
'_son of Professor Donnelle_.' What'd you think of that?"

I told him I was mighty sorry for him, and I was, too.

Then he said how he went to New York in those old rags, and tried not
to see anybody he knew and even he hid his face when he saw Mr. Cooper
on the train. And then he telephoned out to Bridgeboro and Little
Valley and made believe he was somebody else, and said he heard the
houseboat was for sale and in that way he found out about his father
loaning it to our troop, and how we were probably anchored near St.
George at Staten Island. Oh, boy, didn't he hurry up to get there,
because he was afraid we might be gone.

So then he waited till night and he was just wondering whether it would
be safe to wait till we were all asleep and then sneak onto the boat,
when all of a sudden he saw the fellows coming ashore and he got near
and listened and he heard them speak about going to the movies, and he
heard one fellow say something about how Roy would be sorry he didn't
come. And do you want to know what he told me? This is just what he
said; he said, "When I heard your name was Roy, I knew you'd be all
right--see? Because look at Rob Roy," he said; "wasn't he a bully hero
and a good scout and a fellow you could trust with a secret--wasn't
he?" That's just what he said. "You take a fellow named Roy," he said,
"and you'll always find him true and loyal." He said there was a fellow
named Roy on the West Front and he gave up his life before he'd tell on
a comrade.

Then he said, "You see how it is with me, Skeezeks, I'm in a peck of
trouble and I've got to get those army duds on and toddle back to camp
as soon as I can get there and face the music. I've got to make an
excuse--I've got to get that blamed uniform pressed somehow--I suppose
it's creased from the dampness in that locker. I've got to straighten
matters out if I can. I just managed to save my life, and by heck, I'll
be lucky if I can just save my honor and that's the plain truth."

"So you see I've got a lot to do," he said, "and you've got just the
one thing to do, and that's a cinch. It's to keep your mouth shut--see?
Suppose the old gent knew about this. Suppose my sister knew I was
within a quarter of a mile of the house and didn't go to see them. You
know what girls are."

I told him, "