rely never wore anything else in the month of July," Claude
admitted. "When I find myself riding along in a train, in the
middle of harvest, trying to learn French verbs, then I know the
world is turned upside down, for a fact!"

The old man pressed a cigar upon him and began to question him.
Like the hero of the Odyssey upon his homeward journey, Claude
had often to tell what his country was, and who were the parents
that begot him. He was constantly interrupted in his perusal of a
French phrase-book (made up of sentences chosen for their
usefulness to soldiers,--such as; "Non, jamais je ne regarde les
femmes") by the questions of curious strangers. Presently he
gathered up his luggage, shook hands with his neighbour, and put
on his hat--the same old Stetson, with a gold cord and two hard
tassels added to its conical severity. "I get off at this station
and wait for the freight that goes down to Frankfort; the
cotton-tail, we call it."

The old man wished him a pleasant visit home, and the best of
luck in days to come. Every one in the car smiled at him as he
stepped down to the platform with his suitcase in one hand and
his canvas bag in the other. His old friend, Mrs. Voigt, the
German woman, stood out in front of her restaurant, ringing her
bell to announce that dinner was ready for travellers. A crowd of
young boys stood about her on the sidewalk, laughing and shouting
in disagreeable, jeering tones. As Claude approached, one of them
snatched the bell from her hand, ran off across the tracks with
it, and plunged into a cornfield. The other boys followed, and
one of them shouted, "Don't go in there to eat, soldier. She's a
German spy, and she'll put ground glass in your dinner!"

Claude swept into the lunch room and threw his bags on the floor.
"What's the matter, Mrs. Voigt? Can I do anything for you?"

She was sitting on one of her own stools, crying piteously, her
false frizzes awry. Looking up, she gave a little screech of
recognition. "Oh, I tank Gott it was you, and no more trouble
coming! You know I ain't no spy nor nodding, like what dem boys
say. Dem young fellers is dreadful rough mit me. I sell dem candy
since dey was babies, an' now dey turn on me like dis.
Hindenburg, dey calls me, and Kaiser Bill!" She began to cry
again, twisting her stumpy little fingers as if she would tear
them off.

"Give me some dinner, ma'am, and then I'll go and settle with
that gang. I've been away for a long time, and