boats?"

"I'm on the Station. Yes ma'am."

"Do you like the navy?"

"Yes ma'am, I do. I sure do. You know there isn't a drafted man in the
navy. No ma'am! We're all enlisted men."

"When do you think the war will end, Mr. Kamps?"

He told her, gravely. He told her many other things. He told her about
Texas, at length and in detail, being a true son of that Brobdingnagian
state. Your Texan born is a walking mass of statistics. Miss Cunningham
made a sympathetic and interested listener. Her brown eyes were round
and bright with interest. He told her that the distance from Texas to
Chicago was only half as far as from here to there in the state of Texas
itself. Yes _ma'am_! He had figures about tons of grain, and heads of
horses and herds of cattle. Why, say, you could take little ol' meachin'
Germany and tuck it away in a corner of Texas and you wouldn't any more
know it was there than if it was somebody's poor no-'count ranch. Why,
Big Y ranch alone would make the whole country of Germany look like a
cattle grazin' patch. It was bigger than all those countries in Europe
strung together, and every man in Texas would rather fight than eat. Yes
ma'am. Why, you couldn't hold 'em.

"My!" breathed Miss Cunningham.

They danced again. Miss Cunningham introduced him to some other girls,
and he danced with them, and they in turn asked him about the station,
and Texas, and when he thought the war would end. And altogether he had
a beautiful time of it, and forgot completely and entirely about Gunner
Moran. It was not until he gallantly escorted Miss Cunningham downstairs
for refreshments that he remembered his friend. He had procured hot
chocolate for himself and Miss Cunningham; and sandwiches, and
delectable chunks of caramel cake. And they were talking, and eating,
and laughing and enjoying themselves hugely, and Tyler had gone back for
more cake at the urgent invitation of the white-haired, pink-cheeked
woman presiding at the white-clothed table in the centre of the
charming room. And then he had remembered. A look of horror settled down
over his face. He gasped.

"W-what's the matter?" demanded Miss Cunningham.

"My--my friend. I forgot all about him." He regarded her with stricken
eyes.

"Oh, that's all right," Miss Cunningham assured him for the second time
that evening. "We'll just go and find him. He's probably forgotten all
about you, too."

And for the second time she was right. They started on their ques