orly she had
understood him, how little people knew each other.

They talked of a number of things before he suddenly exclaimed: "Oh
Katie, I must tell you. That fellow--what's his name? Mann? The mythical
being known as the man who mends the boats is a fellow you'll have to
avoid, should you ever see him again--which of course is not likely."

She had turned and was looking out at the lights in the street
below. "Yes?"

"Who do you suppose the scoundrel _is_?"

"I'm sure I don't know," she faltered.

"A military _convict_. Attacked an officer. Served time at Leavenworth."

Katie was intent upon the lights down below.

"And what do you suppose he was prying around the Island for?"

"I'm sure I have no idea," she managed to say.

"Going to write a _play_--a play about the _army_! Now what do you
think of that? Darrett found out about it. Oh just the man, you see, to
write a play about the army! And some sensationalists here are going to
put it on. It's the most damnable insolence I ever heard of! They ought
to stop it."

"Oh, I don't know," said Katie, still absorbed in the cabs down below;
"a man has a right to use his experiences--in a play."

"Well a fine view he'll give of it! It's the most insufferable
impertinence I ever knew of!"

She turned around to ask oddly: "Why, Wayne, why all this heat? You're
not in the army any more."

"Well, don't you think I'm not _of_ it, when an upstart like that turns
up to rail at it!"

"But how do you know he'll rail?"

"Oh he'll rail, all right. I know his type. But we'll see to it that it's
pretty generally understood it's military life as presented by a military
_convict_."

"Perhaps you can trust him to make that point clear himself," said Katie
rather dryly.

"The _coward_. The _cur_."

She turned upon him hotly. "Look here, Wayne, I don't know why you're so
sure you have a right to say that!"

"I'd like to know why I haven't! Attacked an officer without the
slightest provocation whatsoever! Some kind of a hot-headed taking sides
with a deserter, I believe it was. I suppose this remarkable play is to
be a glorification of desertion," he laughed.

"Well," said Katie with an unsteady laugh, "perhaps there are worse
things to glorify than desertion."

He stared at her. "Come now, Katie, you know better than that."

But Katie was looking at him strangely. "Wayne," she said quietly,
"you're a deserter, yourself."

He flushed, but after an instant laug