ck me as being so
nearly like Max that they might easily have been brothers. Ellis was
slighter; that was all the difference. I gave him his papers and
examined his tickets. All was well; barring accidents, he would be in
Dresden the next day.

"You go through Doppelkinn, then?" said I.

"Yes. I have friends in Dresden whom I wish to see before going home."

"Well, good luck to you!"

Then I announced that Max Scharfenstein, an old college comrade, would
join us presently. This was greeted with hurrahs. At that time there
wasn't an American student who did not recollect Max's great run from
the ten-yard line. (But where the deuce _was_ Max?) I took a little
flag from my pocket and stuck it into the vase of poppies, and the boys
clapped their hands. You never realize how beautiful your flag is till
you see it in a foreign land. I apologized for Max's absence,
explaining the cause, and ordered dinner to be served. We hadn't much
time, as Ellis's train departed at ten. It was now a quarter to nine.

We had come to the relishes when a party of four officers took the
table nearest us. They hung up their sabers on the wall-pegs, and sat
down, ordering a bottle of light wine. Usually there were five chairs
to the table, but even if only two were being used no one had the right
to withdraw one of the vacant chairs without the most elaborate
apologies. This is the law of courtesy in Barscheit. In America it is
different; if you see anything you want, take it.

Presently one of the officers--I knew none of them save by sight--rose
and approached. He touched the flag insolently and inquired what right
it had in a public restaurant in Barscheit. Ordinarily his question
would not have been put without some justification. But he knew very
well who I was and what my rights were in this instance.

"Herr Lieutenant," said I coldly, though my cheeks were warm enough, "I
represent that flag in this country, and I am accredited with certain
privileges, as doubtless you are aware. You will do me the courtesy of
returning to your own table." I bowed.

He glared at me for a brief period, then turned on his heel. This was
the first act in the play. At the fellow's table sat Lieutenant von
Stoerer, Doppelkinn's nephew and heir-presumptive. He was, to speak
plainly, a rake, a spendthrift and wholly untrustworthy. He was not
ill-looking, however.

My spirits floated between anger and the fear that the officers m