e key, though.

"I dunno," says he. "'Tis railroad property, y' understand, and I'd be
afther riskin' me job if any thin' should----"

"I know, Danny," says I. "But you tell 'em it was commandeered by the U.
S. Army, which is me; and if that don't square you I'll have Mr. Baker
come on and tell the section boss where he gets off."

"Verra well," says Danny. And in less than five minutes more I'm down
there at the crossin', all snug and cozy, peekin' out of them round
windows into No Man's Land.

For a while it was kind of excitin'; but after that it got sort of
monotonous. There was about half of an old moon in the sky, and only a
few clouds, so you could see fairly well--if there'd been anything to
see. But nothing seemed to be stirrin', up or down the road.

What a nut that Norton Plummer was, anyway, feedin' me up with his wild
tales in the middle of the night! And why didn't he show up? Finally I
got restless, and walked out where I could rubber up the trolley track.
No sign or sound of a car. Then I looks at my watch again, and figures
out it ain't due for twenty minutes or so. Next I strolls across the
railroad to look for Plummer. And, just as I'm passin' a big maple tree,
out steps this huge party with the whiskers. I nearly jumped out of my
puttees.

"Eh?" says I gaspy.

"Gotta match?" says he.

"I--I guess so," says I.

I reached as far as I could when I hands him the box, too. He's a whale
of a man, tall and bulky. And his whiskers are the bristly
kind--straw-colored, I should say. He's wearin' a double-breasted blue
coat and a sort of yachtin' cap. Uh-huh! Plummer must have been right.
If this gink wasn't a Hun naval officer, then what was he? The ayes had
it.

He produces a pipe and starts to light up. One match broke, the second
had no strikin' head on it, the third just fizzed.

"Gr-r-r-r!" says he.

Then he starts for the crossin', me trailin' along. I saw he had his eye
on Danny's sentry-box, meanin' to get in the lee of it. Even then I
didn't have any bright little idea.

"Waitin' for the trolley?" I throws out.

"What of it?" he growls.

"Oh, no offense," says I hasty. "Maybe there are others."

He just lets out another grunt, and tries one more match with his face
up against the side of the shanty. And then, all in a jump, my bean got
into gear.

"You might have better luck inside," says I, swingin' open the door
invitin'.

He don't even say thank you. He ain't one of that ki