ally for
companionship of his own age, and his heart warmed again to the young
Austrian.

"I see that you're running, too," said John.

"Yes," smiled Kempner. "I'm a man of peace, a painter, or rather I would
be one, and as my heart is a little weak I'm not drawn for military
service. I'm on my way to Munich, where I mean to study the galleries."

"I'm going to Munich, too," said John. "So we can travel together."

"Then if we expect to reach Munich we'd better jump out now. Quick!"

"What for?"

"It seems that this is the Austrian border, and trains are not crossing
it now, owing to the mobilization. A German train has come to meet us.
Look, most of the passengers have transferred already!"

John saw his uncle and Mr. Anson standing on the steps of the German
train and looking about vainly for him. There had been no announcement
of the change, and, annoyed, he ran down the corridor and sprang to the
ground, closely followed by Kempner.

"Passporten! passporten!" shouted some one, putting a strong hand on his
arm.

John saw his uncle and Mr. Anson going into the German train, evidently
thinking that he was inside, and his alarm increased.

"Amerikanischer! Amerikanischer!" he said to the Austrian officer, who
was holding his arm and demanding his passport. The officer shook his
head and spoke voluble German. John did not understand it, but he knew
that the man at such a time would insist upon seeing his passport.
Kempner just behind him was in the same bad case.

The whistle of departure sounded from the train, and John, in despair,
tore at the passport in an inside pocket. He saw that the officer would
never be able to read it in time, and he endeavored to snatch himself
from the detaining grasp. But the Austrian hung on firmly.

As he fairly thrust the document in the face of the official he saw the
wheels of the coaches moving.

"I'll come on the next train!" he shouted to the air.

The officer looked over the passport deliberately and handed it back.
The train was several hundred yards down the track.

"Now, yours," he said to Kempner, and the young man passed it to him.

"August Wilhelm Kempner," said the officer, and then he added, looking
the young man squarely in the eye: "I happen to know August William
Kempner who lives in Vienna and he bears no resemblance to you. How do
you happen to have his passport?"

"That I won't explain to you," said the false Kempner, and suddenly he
struck him a