ou this party?" He tried to pronounce
Jim's formidable name on the card.

"Yes, sir."

"What does this mean--Sec., CCC?" he roared again.

Deming was getting upset, confused besides by his inadequate
vocabulary.

"I don't know in German, but in English we say Secretary of the
Cinderella Cotillion Coterie."

"Ah, you say _Secretary_. It is English." And an enlightened
satisfaction furrowed the hardened face of the interlocutor. Then,
abruptly to Deming's relief:

"You may go."

As Jim rose to leave he found a court flunkey at either elbow. They
escorted him out with a military precision and flourish. He
congratulated himself on the easy way he had got through with it. He
must have somehow managed it pretty well.

Two days later, in the evening, an attendant from the Intelligence
Office ushered himself into Deming's room without announcement. He
bore a summons for the next day.

"Well, of all the damned fools!" Jim exclaimed to himself. "They
don't seem to know I'm a free American citizen. I'll tell them this
time. They are getting too familiar--walking into a chap's room
without waiting to be invited."

This time he was brought before a higher official with a more
exalted mien, and manners of inextinguishable anger. He held the
tell-tale notice of February twenty-second in his horny paw. Deming
was this time not asked to sit down.

"Who's this George?" was demanded.

"Why, that's our great George," confirmed Jim, sharing with jaunty
confidence this bit of universal knowledge.

"George--George--the king of England," was the gratifying
conclusion.

"And what does this mean?"

"That's Senate and the Roman People. That's just a joke."

"Senate--Senate! Official."

Several of the glowering army folk stood about. They took on
menacing airs of importance, following the lead of their chief. An
international intrigue, involving a foreign king and senate, was
being rapidly unraveled. Deming was so suddenly and summarily
dismissed again that he forgot to tell them proudly he was a free
American citizen--with a hundred million people behind them.

He was becoming worried and consulted the experience of Miles
Anderson whom he had, of course, met through Kirtley.

"In the toils of the German high police!" chuckled Anderson. "That
is certainly funny."

"But what am I to do to get rid of them?" inquired Jim anxiously.
"It seems I have no privacy. And I don't want to be going to the
Platz all the time. Hadn'