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3; : AndOther Stories of Adventure By H. BEDFORD-JONES ^dpyright by Telling roles Magazine; published’ by arrangement with The McClure Newspaper Syndicate. For Services Tms is the tale of "Zomy" Sal, of the skipper of the barque Nimrod, and of Ben Almond’s one hundred pounds. To get the full thrilling effect, it should, of course, he reviewed from the angle of Theodore Brunt. You kno„w Brunt. He writes popular stories—creepy, pallid things abrirn with slimy facts. If you relish having your nerves laid ' bare by his pitiless scalpel, then • ‘ don’t read this tale—to the end. For there is just one- bet that Theodore Brunt, has overlooked. Zomy Sal got her nickkname one of the first nights she appear *■ ed at Lee Hung’s place. She was a hearty, silent young woman— always silent, yet merry withal. Somebody demanded where she hailed from. She, great buxom lass that she was, her cheeks still rosy red from English sun and fog, made answer. Her reply came loudly during an unexpected pause in the whirring Oriental music. “Zomerzet!” she said, a wry twist to her lips. “Zomerzet! ' Did’st ever zee it? Nay, but I’d ^ tell un—” “By gad,” cried Lady Nell, ■ “she’s from Somerset! Who’ll buy a drink for a Somerset lass?” The response was so uproarious that after this, Lee Hung had the performance repeated each time an English ship came uprivej. Thus came Zomy Sal by her name. How ever, she showed little, liking for the performance, and became more silent than ever; the more silent she was, the finer and heartier her warm smile. From all, this, you might easily 'deduce that there was something morally unsound in the air. Such might be readily imagined—fur tive women and careless men, nuances of evil, dim lights and painted eyes. No, no! Metonomy is dangerous; .the appearance does not always spell the reality. The Reverend Mr. Barham’s charming cherub, “who couldn’t sit down, for he hadn’t de quoi,” is a case in point. Undoubtedly, . Theodore Brunt could write, a fearful and terrible rhapsody anent Lee Hung’s place, • stamping Lady Nell with tragedy * and so fprth. Yet it was reafly not so bad. • ; Perhaps you have never been in Bangkok. Lee Hung's “English and American Bar” was on the' west bank of the Menam River, down a bit from the Tachin railway sta tion. Thus, you will observe that It was nearly opposite the lega tions, custom-house and wharves. A very convenient location in some ways—handy to ' the shipping trade. Lee Hung was a flat-faced yel low. gentleman who regarded the Siamese as barbarians. He cater ed only to foreigners and wealthy Chinese—-to gentlemen only, be it noted. He had an expert Australian barmaid, and a dozen girls who got a percentage of the drinks. There were gambling rooms, over which Lee himself presided, while Lady Nell had charge of the dance hall. Our blue-law enthusiasts wouia think all this perfectly horrible, naturally, but read on. Lady Nell was a handsome creature of thirty odd—dark and/ dashing, abrim with a reckless vitality, ever a gay. spendthrift of her inner self. It is true that she smoked; so do ladies. It is true that she drank some times; so do ladies. There, how ever, the. comparison ends; for Lady Nell (was not a lady, and no man took hgrj name lightly. In fact, you mu'st not think evil , of Lady Nell or any of Lee Hung’s girls. This was no place for com mon seamen, decadent artists or vers librettists^ One' did not even get dtunk in fills ulace. I have said that Lie Huzfg was a gentle man; also he waa^Tpeculiar man, with extraordinary notions of hon or and.pride. When no white vis itors were here, his yellow friends came and drank and indulged in witty talk with the girls, and went r home happy. Honi soit! . Now, there was one peculiar v thing about Lady T^TelJ. When of ficers of coasters or merchant ves sels were in the bar, she was ever . , curious about other men in their profession. Oftenest, she would ask if they knew a certain John Hanson, an American, who had been mate in a Sydney islan.d ' trader ten years previously. One * gathered vaguely that she had known this Hanson. phe never got any news of him, Ki ’however—that is, any definite news* for no one in these parts . *•;, • 1 - . .* knew or cared anything about the archipelago. All they knew about was their own little world. Once an officer from a Fluviales boat spoke of a Hanson in command of a Saigon river steamer; but that Hanson was a black Dane. And once a braw Scots engineer knew ] of a John Hanson in the Bombay trade who had died years agone, but this was vaguely said, spoken only with a desire to please. And Zomy Sal said nothing at all. She only sat and smiled and listened, while slowly the English sun and fog were driven out of her cheeks \>y the Menam river mists. One night two men came into the English bar together, ordered ale and dropped into the settle by the fireplace for a bit of private talk. This was long before danc ing hours. Zomy Sal was the only girl in view, and she was sitting over some sewing. The two men were officers from a Dutch packet in the stream, and they talked in Hollandsch. After the ale was gone, they began to drink Hollands; and after this, they began to talk in less guarded tones. • One of them was a dark man with a ragged black beard, gray streaked, and a very bad and mo rose eye. The other was younger,' sneering in his manner, an obvious parasite on the world. Both men had spent the afterno'on at the Samsen gambling pavilions, up the river, and they were in the sullen mood of men who have lost heavily. “That barque will be up the river to-morrow, sure,” said the older man. Houtman was his name, and he was a second officer. "It must be done here or not at all, Koln.” v-'Uibc; juui Koln, with a hard and sneering laugh. He was only a supercargo, but he had little good in him. “You seem to think that only Siam is safe for our kind of a job!” “It is safe,” asserted the other, placidly fingering his ragged beard “I should know!. And we know that Hanson will have the money with him.” “Naturally," said Koln dryly. "He always has it with him. Was he not famous down in the islands for always having those Bank of England notes in his belt? That is, unless rumor lied! He’ll have it, right enough—all ready for us!” Houtman regarded his compan ion with a very cynical air. “You are young, Koln,” he said. “You are young, and you make light of great things. This Cap’n Hanson is no small matter. Per haps you never heard how three men tried to kill him and take that [money, once in Amboind when he was drunk.” “Ja, I heard,” scoffed Koln. “Three ip.en from, a Thursday Is land pearler, fighting men! And' this Cap’n Hanson broke them all to pieces,: maimed' them, killed one of them! Well, what of it? I may be young, but by heavens I have a head! And I have done things.” “That, is true.”. Houtman frow ned thoughtfully. “Ten thousand pounds in Bank of England notes! He never spends it. He never does anything with it. He says that he is waiting to find the owner. Well, it is known that Cap’n Han son is not crazy, certainly. Per haps this money is his fetish, Koln. Did you ever hear dt a fet ish? In the old days, away back on the West Coast—” “Never mind prating of your adventures in Africa,” struck in Koln—yet with a smile of friend liness that took the edge from his sneer. These two men knew each other well. “I know what a fet ish is, ja! And I don’t care a snap for all the fetishes on earth. I will put this American captain in hell, and we shall divide his money.” ; 'He made a sudden cautious sign “Eh! That girl. Call her over." Houtman turned and looked at Zomy Sal, beckoned her* to join them. She laid down her sewing and came, smiling. Now, when Sal smiled, men wondered. In these ends of earth, they seldoip saw a woman smile with this hearty pleasant frankness. So, though Zomy Sal was ever silent, men loved to talk with her and. buy. drinks, for the sake of her quick, warm smile. It took them back to honest things they had nearly for gotten. Yes, one must admit that Lee Hung picked his helpers wisely! He did all things wisely, that yel low man. Houtman tried Sal with French and Hollandsch, to which she shook her head and smiled the more. Haltring English made her speak, but her broad country ton gue was beyond either of - these men. Koln watched her with nar rowed, evil eyes, and Anally made an irritated signal to Houtman.1 Zomy Sal, after a glass of ale, went back to her sewing. * “Fetishes mean nothing to me,” said Koln, reverting to their line of talk. “Bah! I am a man.” “SoC’ observed Houtman, “was the mg squarehead, who found Hanson lying sick on the beach at Medan, one night. He was a man too! Hanson was sick and weak. None the less, they say that the squarehead reached the residency with a broken jaw, a dislocated, arm, and one eye gbne. No, no, my friend—I,am not afraid! But I am no longer young, and I am cautious. It is best to ; take no chances. Hanson is a stranger to this nlace. has never been here be fore, iand we can do it easily enough if we do it right.” “You’re sure of all that?” de manded Koln quickly. Houtman nodded, smilingly vaguely. “Oh, ja!. Sure enbugh. That mate of his was very drunk, and talked freely. This is Hanson’s first trip up the coast, here. Some one will bring him here to this bar, and this is the place to work it. No one will interfere.” Koln’s brows lifted to a ques tion. “But I’ve always heard that this yellow man was square and honest!” “He is. Other men are not. There is a fellow who owes me some money, in the Guang Tit Lee sawmill—the American manager. He will do the trick for us. The Nimrod is a Straits Company boat, so she’ll drop her hook offl the Borneo. The whole affair, is as certain as daylight, except our part of it. That must be arrang ed.” r - "All right.” Koln lit a thin, pallid Dutch cheroot and leaned back. "What’s our part of it, then?” "To finish Hanson after he’s drugged, and take the money.” Houtman said this simply, cool ly. One gathered from his air that it was entirely \a business propos ition with him. Zomy Sal went on with her sew ing, silent as usual, but no longer smiling. Down around the Banda and Arafura seas, where he was best known, Captain John Hanson was a marked man. All peculiar skippers are mark ed men, of course, but Hanson’was the marked man. This, by reason of the ten thousand pounds- in the money-belt around his waist. The whole archipelago knew about it, and some of the archipelago had was quite lanky, even thin. .The effect. of his hooked nose and square chin was dampened by a certain weary air in his eyes. Now he appeared rather disgusted with his compnaion. "I don’t care • for- this sort of place,” he said mildly. “Loose women—” Ben Almond snickered. . • “It aint what it seems, Cap’n— not a bit. of it! ' Try anything on with these gals, and they’ll show you what for! So’ll Lee Hung.” The heavy - brows of Hanson went up. “So? You can’t mean—’,’ ‘(I do, though.” Almond looked about impudently. “I don’t savvy it myself. Tried to make a date with one of the girls, and I thought Lee Hung would knife me! I guess they’re straight enough.” • . Later this remark was to make some money for Almond, but he did not dream it now. “You know,” he went on, “it’s rotten hard for a white woman, on her .uppers, to keep straight in these’ parts, Cap’n! Y°u know how it , is—blamed hard. Mebbe that’s why Lee Hung went into business. These Chinks are the devil for queer notions. I’ve heard he’s a reg’lar father to ’em,, sends ’em back home, and so forth. Yes, I guess the girls are all straight enough.” • “Coming from you,” said Han son carelessly, "that is a tremen dous affirmation.” Hanson went on looking about the room. As for Almond, fie was rather slow in sensing what had just been said. When he did understand it,; —when he realized that Hanson, in a tone of careless disregard, had classed him with the lowest j "You telly my, yes-no,” he said softly^ ' . ' Almond opened the paper and read the message—a curt com mand from Lee Hung to get out. A pallid fury leaped athwart his face. He wiped the look away, stifled the oath on his lips and looked up at the skipper. [ “I got to go see a man in a hurry, Cap’n,” he said. “It’|s a hell of a note! But it’s a business deal—” “Don’t mention it,” returned Hanson with a wave of his cigar. Even as he spoke, his eyes wan dered carelessly. It meant noth ing to him, nothing at all. Almond departed, leaving Han son sitting there. A moment later Zomy Sal came by and smiled at Hanson. She paused before him and spoke. He frowned, listened, made her re peat three times before he under stood that she wanted to speak with him. Then he nodded and ordered a drink. He scrutinized her curiously. “What language is that you speak?” he inquired. “Good,Lord, girl, I can’t understand a thing you say!” True enough. She was absolute ly unintelligible to him—that broad Somerset burr was all Greek to his American ears. Sud denly she plunged into excellent Hollandsch. “My father was often in Hol land,” she explained. “He was a sea-captain too.” “Good!” said ■ Hanson, still studying her face. “That’s good, girl. Smile again—by George, that smile of yours is the finest thing I’ve seen these ten years!” But Zomy Sal did not smile. In stead, she returned his intent look. “That man with you,” she said, —he meant to drug you. Two men were in here last night, and they talked in Hollandsch—they did not know I understood. He was to drug you, and they were to get you when you left.” Hanson removed the cigar from “Smile Again—by George, That Smile of yours is the Finest Thing I’ve Seen These Ten Tears.” moved heaven and eacth to get Jiold of it. There was some deep secret about that money; 'no one knew just what. Hanson, finding the story had somehow' slipped out, merely said that he carried the money in trust and was seeking the owner. Another man would have lied and scoffed at the. story, but not Hanson. Another man would have bank ed the money, but not Hanson. That money was safer in his belt than in any bank, he considered. And rightly enough, so far ap his own ship was concerned. N# one who knew him would ever try for that money. As a rule, he was off poking around through the dis tant islands—he had even been to the Kermadecs. He had the air of a man restlessly seeking. On the night after the Nimrod Had pulled i up the river to Bang kok and dropped her hook, Han son came ashore. He came into the "English and American Bar,” in company with one Ben Almond, who managed a sawmill along the stream. Almond was an American of sorts, or had been one. He was a plausible chap, always in debt; he was not strong enough to be bad, bpt he was furtive.! And there ‘was’ nothing decent about him except his plausible air. iiee Hung Had once put him out of the place, for reason, and or dinarily wduld never have allowed him entrance again. On this par ticular flight, however, Lee Hung was too busy to watch things. Lady Nell was down with an'at tack of river fever, and all hands wete rushed. . t ■ - So the two men .came into the English bar, and sat themselves down. Cap’ju John Hanson looked about, with only a flicker of in terest, at the crowd. With his seaman’s cap off, he .looked older, j showed much gray hair about the temples. / He was not . a big than at all, i this skipper of the Nimrod. He of the low,'—the man’s face paled horribly. “Have a cigar,” he said In a strangled voice. “Got some Amer icans here.” He laid several cigars on the table. Two bore the gaudy bands of imported Havanas. With an exclamation of mild pleasure Han son took one of these and lighted it. , It was singular to note the sup reme disdain with which Hanson treated tl\e man who had brought him here. Perhaps, seated under the lights, he had found some thing in Almond’s face which he had missed previously. Yet something of this same air, toward everything and everyone around him, could be found in the gaze of Captain John Hanson. It was not truculence. It was not as though he considered himself bet ter than others- ftot that at all! Nor was it the weary aloofness. Rather, those deep eyes, after their first flash of interest, appear ed to hold everything here in dis regard, as though the man had nothing in common with the scene. All around were officers from many ships, both of the line and of the marine—honest laughter, quick snatches of many tongues, catches of feminine voices. From the other rooms the “wheeze-bang of native music, scrape of dancing feet, clatter of chips—the throb aid thrill of high-pitched amuse ment, Of frank gayety. , • Yet the man was never stirred ; -; .. v- .... • • . YjJ Y; Y ./ by it at all. He seemed thinking of something else. ’ "WVy the devil don’t that gal bring the drinks?” snarled Almond suddenly. “Real booze here. None o’ your cursed rotgut—” A white-clad Chinese boy, the flrst\who had appeared In this bar, slipped through the throng. Deftly and with apologies, he made his way to the two men. Down be fore Ben Alinond he laid a folded cnit. , between his teeth, and sat back in his chair. His deep eyes had changed slightly; a little flame had come into them. His muscles had tensed, so that he seemed to beawkwardly poised in his chair. “Good for you!” he said calm ly. “I thought there was some thing odd about that chap picking up such a friendship for me. Had my eye on him. Who were those other two men? Dutchmen?” Now Zorny Sal smiled a,gain, and right merrily. “Yes! 'And I fooled them nice ly. There names were Houtman and Koln; you don’t know them. But tell me, Captain Hanson! Were you ever mate in ai. island trader out of Sydney, a schooner called the Ayu-avu? Teh years ago?” The effect of this question upon John Hanson, as extraordinary. For an instant his dark eyes closed; otherwise he did not move a muscle. One would have said that those eyes closed to shut out the world, to shut in a prayer drawn from the man’s soul. Then the eyes opened, dtfelt up on the girl with a singular intens ity. "Yes," said Hansoh, "I was.” Zomy Sal was perhaps a little disappointed at1 his manner. She leaned forward, and spoke again in her good European Hollandsch. “And did you once carry a rich man and his daughter to Rarot onga? And was the ship wrecked? And was nearly everyone drowned -^nearly?”-^ / The features of Captain Han son, brown qs rosewood under the cap-line, became oyerspread with a mortal pallor. His nostrills be came pinched, whitish. In his eyes shone agony. "Oh, God, have I found her at last?” he muttered in English. It Was actually a question addressed to his creator. “Yus!” said Zomy Sal triumph-' ahtly. “Yus!” A frightful effort, a spasmodic .. . ' I r contortion of the facial muscles, passed across the countenance of the skipper. He was himself again shrewdly alert. “What d'you mean, girl?” he demanded sharply. > "Who told you this yarn?” “She’s. upstairs, sick with the fever,” Sal’s broad face beamed happily. “She was talking in her sickness today, and I heard it all. J. knew she had asked everyone who came here for news of you, and I thought you were the man. Now she’s afraid that if she ever did find you, you would think that we were not honest because w^ work here—that she had not been good. But she has.”' These last words were entirely ignored, brushed aside unheard.. "Upstairs!” said Hanson. Some thing like a shiver passed over his spare lithe body. He shook it off and put the cigar: in his ihouth again. “Ten years! Ten years!” There was awe in his voice. Suddenly he stirred, sat up. reached with fumbling fingers for his cap. “Look here,” he said, a touch of acerbity in his tone, "I feel sick. I had fish for supper—must ha’ been tainted. But I have .to see her—” . ‘ “You can’t," said Zomy Sal with finality. “She’s asleep now, and sweating. She’ll be all right tomorrow. You come back and see her then.” . “All right." Hanson came to his feet. He had a bit of difficulty finding the floor with him. He fished a sover eign from his pocket and laid it on the table. "I’ll be back in the morning,” he said, his voice oddly thick. “Back in the morning, girl. Don’t you tell her, now! I've got her dad’s money—been carrying it ten years until I saw her again. Heard she’d been rescued—couldn’t find any trace—God, how I’ve prayed these ten years past! I’ll be back.” He went out of the place like a man drunk. Zomy Sal gazed after him, simple adoration in her eyes. It was a romantic moment for Sal —a great moment! ( Neither of them reflected that it might not have been the drinks that were doped, but the cigar. You can readily perceive what a tremendous story, a tale to wring the very heart, Theodore Brunt could make out of this situation! How Hanson died, and Laay Nell never saw him, perhaps. Or how the ten years were to end only in the agony of misunderstanding, how the skipper would condemn Lady Nell as a had woman, and how she would end up in a Chi nese harem, and so forth. That’s like Brunt—-short and bitter, rep tilian! But there Is one bet that Theo dore Brunt has overlooked. Captain John Hanson went out of the ‘‘English and American Bar” into the darkness. He 'stag gered down to the landing at the mouth of the creek, guided by the paper lanterns. His feet hit with a hard uncertainty on the teak planks. He knew that boats waited there, and he could easily get a lift to the Borneo wharves. He was thinking only of, the wonderful thiiig that had happen ed—all his swimming thoughts were centered on this. After ten years! ‘‘Boat, Cap’n?” said a voice. "Yes,” returned Hanson thick ly. "To the Borneo—barque Nimrod.” • , “Right. Here y’are, sir.” Two men grasping his elbows, Hanson stepped down' into the waiting boat. As she lurched to his weight, something struck him heavily in the back of the head, and he fell. "Let him lie in the bilge,” mut tered Koln. "So much the better if he drowns. Now, get away from here first, and go , through him afterward.” ■ "Good,” 8 a 1 d Houtman. "Straight downstream, then ac cross.” The boat melted into the shad ows. When Captain John Hanson came to himself, the light of the morning sun was striking through the port of his own cabin and blinding his eyes. He lay in his own bunk. Sitting in a chair and watching, him in anxiety was his mate, an old Australian cockney who had been long with him, in many ships. Hanson lay for a long moment looking into the eyes df his mate. Then he remembered everything in a flash. He lifted a hand to his head. The fingers trembled, shook visibly, but not from the pain of his hurt, "Ten years!’’ said Hanson very huskily. “What happened to me?” ^‘You got it,” said the mate morosely. “You’ve been bleedln’ well arskin’ for it, aint you? Ten years—huh! A coolie fetched you aboard with your 'ead stove in; that’s wot!" Automatically, by sheer habit, the hand of Hanson went, to his belt—and dropped. "Huh,” assented the mate glum ly. “They got Jt, all right! It’s gone.” “ . A sudden smile broke out in the face of . John Hanson—a smile such as the old mate had never seen there before, a glorious and splendid smile. * . V y “Get me a boat,” said the skip per, his voice gaining strength. “I’m going across the river.” “No, you ain't!'’ cried the mate, alarmed. “You're off your ruddy 'ead; that’s wot! And you aint shaved. Gray ’airs stlckin’ out all over your chin—” .. Hanson made a violent, effort. He swung up, rocked to his feet, Stood unsteadily.’ ,-i ' : 4v' ■ i ■ yi "Confound you—go get mo a boat!” , ' "Listen ’ere!” pleaded the m^te. "Let me 'tend to it, sir! You aint in no shape to go after that ere Weedin' money—" "Damn the money! roared John Hanson, so that {his voice shook the cabin. He laughed ex ultantly as he swayed there “Damn the money! Get.me a boat, or I’ll show you who’s master of this hooker!” 1 . So John Hanson, gray hairs and all, went across the river to find the woman he had met and lost ten years since. And, with the next night the Nimrod had gone her way. It was three nights later that the "English and American Bar” wit nessed a peculiar scene,. Two men, who had spent the past day at .the Samsen gambling house, and who had won huge sums there, left their boat and lurched arm in arm up to Lee Hung’s place. They were both half drunk, and exuded money at every pore. One was Koln, the other Houtman. They came in as though they owned the place, scattering lar gesse profusely. Tb the general surprise and astonishment, Lee Hung himself met them and gra ciously conducted them to a pri vate room. • These two men were vociferous in stating what they wanted. One thing they desired was a girl with red cheeks, a girl who smiled. Lee Hung informed them, deprecat ingly, that Zomy Sal had gone away.. She had gone to Singapore with friends, and was not coming back. Now, just wnat toot place m this private room is a mystery. And it is not wise to speculate in public upon anything that Lee Hung wishes to remaifl a mystery. ' , In any event, upon the following dawn Houtman and Koln were put* aboard their own ship by a coolie boatman. They were stripped nak ed and were drunk—or drugged. However, their captain was de lighted to see them, since he was leaving with the tide. And so they pass out of the story. Abdjt the time Houtman and Koln were leaving Bangkok, the estimable Lee Hung was mailing two letters. One of these, contain ing an extremely large draft on the Hongkong and Shanghai Bank, was addressed to Mrs: John Han son, care the Straits Company, Singapore. The other letter was opened on the following day by one Ben Al mond. He opened it with aston ishment and suspicion. His aston ishment became stupefaction when he found a Bank of England note for one hundred pounds, and a brief scrawl: “From Captain Han son. For services rendered.” Almond turned the note over and over, read the scrawl again, scratched his head. “Well,” he observed, "I'm damned! Never could understand that fellow!” What a magniflciently tragic and and horrible story could be made out of all this by the genius of Theodore Brunt! Yet there is one bet that Brunt has overlooked. :It is found in the first verse of the fourteenth Psalm. HE FORGOT SOMETHING. "Last fall,” said one acquaintance to the other on the street car, "I told you I was going to move Into a house heated by a furnace, a thing I had never had.” “Yes, I remember,” said the other. “I asked you how much coal I would need for the winter.” • "Yes, I remember.” “And you told me six tons,” ' “Yes, I think I did.” *T bought six tons,” continued the other, “and here I ant but of coal, and all. the family suffering with chills and sore throats and all the children frost bitten. What have you got t.o say, to that?” “Why, my dear friend, I must say that I forgot something. I ought to have told you that with six tons of coal the whole family of you must stay in bed four days a week, the other three days you must hover over the registers. The family should eat all the horseradish and fried peppers they can and drink about three gallons of hot tea. Then, if the coal gives out, you ought to bhy a stove and a barrel of kero sene. Oh, yes, I was In a hurry the day you asked me, and I for got” NO HARM DONE. “Look here,” said one 1 returned soldier to another as they met on the street "the government has mixed things up, pretty badly for me.” "As to how?” was Inquired. "Why, I am put down as a de serter from the army, and you all' know what I did. I saved the lives of our officers as we were Going Over. When we arrived I captured three generals, five colonels and a whole battery of artillery, i cap tured and turned1 In fifty horses and two hundred muskets, and came home with about forty medals wav ing around me.” “And I,” said the other, “did not do anything, at all but lay arotmd and ate up my rations. I wasn’t in a single light and spent most of my time flirting with the French girls, and I have / got all the credit that is coming ra you.” “And what are we going, to do about It?” .asked the first ona - ■ “Nothing, comrade. Nothing ' at' .t all. You see, there was no one'to if blame about .it. It was just at the,, time we were' letting go of our mug® and glasses and turning to col<r water, and Unde Sam he got mixed up apd so did you an injustice, t- ;
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