in an ambulance. I made
straight for John; gave him the grip, and put it up to him to help me."

"I don't understand," I said. "I thought you were sailing on the
Adriaticus?"

The young man was again pacing the floor. He halted and faced the
harbor.

"You bet I'm sailing on the Adriaticus," he said. He looked out at
that vessel, at the Blue Peter flying from her foremast, and grinned.
"In just two hours!"

It was stupid of me, but I still was unenlightened. "But your twelve
hours' leave?" I asked.

The young man laughed. "They can take my twelve hours' leave," he said
deliberately, "and feed it to the chickens. I'm beating it."

"What d'you mean, you're beating it?"

"What do you suppose I mean?" he demanded. "What do you suppose I'm
doing out of uniform, what do you suppose I'm lying low in the room
for? So's I won't catch cold?"

"If you're leaving the army without a discharge, and without
permission," I said, "I suppose you know it's desertion."

Mr. Hamlin laughed easily. "It's not my army," he said. "I'm an
American."

"It's your desertion," I suggested.

The door opened and closed noiselessly, and Billy, entering, placed a
new travelling bag on the floor. He must have heard my last words, for
he looked inquiringly at each of us. But he did not speak and, walking
to the window, stood with his hands in his pockets, staring out at the
harbor. His presence seemed to encourage the young man. "Who knows
I'm deserting?" he demanded. "No one's ever seen me in Salonika
before, and in these 'cits' I can get on board all right. And then
they can't touch me. What do the folks at home care how I left the
British army? They'll be so darned glad to get me back alive that they
won't ask if I walked out or was kicked out. I should worry!"

"It's none of my business," I began, but I was interrupted. In his
restless pacings the young man turned quickly.

"As you say," he remarked icily, "it is none of your business. It's
none of your business whether I get shot as a deserter, or go home,
or--"

"You can go to the devil for all I care," I assured him. "I wasn't
considering you at all. I was only sorry that I'll never be able to
read your book."

For a moment Mr. Hamlin remained silent, then he burst forth with a
jeer.

"No British firing squad," he boasted, "will ever stand me up."

"Maybe not," I agreed, "but you will never write that book."

Again there was silence, and this time it was