d
of prompt attention less than two hundred yards away. I called him
names. I guaranteed to write to the German government and the United
States papers about him. I told him I'd have his job if it cost me all
my money and a lifetime's trouble. He was just about ready to
shoot--I'd just about got the red blood rising on his neck and
ears--when along came the commandant--der Herr Capitain--the officer
commanding Muanza--a swag-bellied ruffian with a beard and a beery look
in his eye, but a voice like a man falling down three stories with all
the fire-irons.

"'What do you want?' he demanded in English, and I thanked him first
for not having mistaken me for one of his own countrymen. Then I told
him what I'd come for.

"'To-morrow at eight o'clock!' he snapped, after he'd had a word with
the medico. 'Meanwhile, make yourself scarce out of here! There is a
camping-ground for the use of foreigners. You and your party go to it!
If you do any damage there you will hear from me later!'

"I didn't come as easy as all that. I stood there telling him things
about Germany and Germans, and what I'd do to help his personal
reputation with the home folks, until I guessed he had his craw as near
full as he could stand it without having me arrested. Then I did
come--whistling Yankee-doodle. And say--Fred! Where's that concertina
of yours?"

Fred patted it. His beloved instrument was never far from hand.

"Why don't you play all the American and English tunes you know
to-night? Play and sing 'em, Britannia Rule the Waves--Marching
Through Georgia--My Country 'tis of Thee--The Marseillaise--The Battle
Hymn of the Republic--and anything and everything you know that
Squareheads won't like. Let's make this camp a reg'lar--hello--see
who's here!"

Fred had begun fingering the keys already and the first strains of
Marching Through Georgia began to awake the neighborhood to recognition
of the fact that foreigners were present who held no especial brief for
German rule. The tent-door darkened. Brown leapt to his feet and
swore.

"Gassharamminy!" said a voice we all recognized instantly. "That tune
sounds good! I've lived in the States! I'm a United States citizen!
A man can't forget his own country's tunes so easily!"

Cool and impudent, Georges Coutlass entered and, without waiting for an
invitation, took a seat on a load of canned food. Brown grabbed the
nearest rifle (it happened to be Fred's)--snapped open the