"And without it, she has a mighty good chance of winning this war--"

When the talk begins with the uselessness of wristers, shifts from
that to democratic inefficiency, and from that to the probability of
_Deutschland ueber Alles_, you may be certain of the diagnosis. The
disease is _cafard_.

The sound of a motor-car approaching. Dunham rushes to the window and
then swears, remembering our greased-cloth window panes.

"Go and see who it is, Tiffin, will you? Hope it's the mail orderly."

Tiffin goes on outpost and reports three civilians approaching.

"Now, who can they be, I wonder?"

"Newspaper men probably."

"Good Lord! I hope not."

"Another American mission."

"That's my guess, too."

Rodman is right. It is another American mission coming to "study
conditions" at the front.

"But unofficially, gentlemen, quite unofficially," says Mr. A., its
head, a tall, melancholy-looking man, with a deep, bell-like voice.
Mr. B., the second member of the mission, is in direct contrast, a
birdlike little man, who twitters about the room, from group to group.

"Oh! If you boys only knew how _splendid_ you are! How much we in
America--You are our _first_ representatives at the front, you know.
You are the vanguard of the _millions_ who--" etc.

Miller looks at me solemnly. His eyes are saying, "How long, O Lord,
how long!"

Mr. C., the third member, is a silent man. He has keen, deep-set eyes.
"There," we say, "is the brain of the mission."

Tea is served very informally. Mr. A. is restless. He has something on
his mind. Presently he turns to Lieutenant Talbott.

"May I say a few words to your squadron?"

"Certainly," says Talbott, glancing at us uneasily.

Mr. A. rises, steps behind his chair, clears his throat, and looks
down the table where ten pilots,--the others are taking a
constitutional in the country,--caught in negligee attire by the
unexpected visitors, are sitting in attitudes of polite attention.

"My friends--" the deep, bell-like voice. In fancy, I hear a great
shifting of chairs, and following the melancholy eyes with my own,
over the heads of my ten fellow pilots, beyond the limits of our poor
little messroom, I see a long vista of polished shirt fronts, a
diminishing track of snowy linen, shimmering wineglasses, shining
silver.

"My friends, believe me when I say that this occasion is one of the
proudest and happiest of my life. I am standing within sound of the
guns which for three--l