Siberia To-Day

by Frederick Ferdinand Moore

“Most certainly,” said Smith, swallowing bait, line and sinker.

“Then I suggest,” said the wag, “that we do not pay our hotel bills. That would be the proper procedure, to keep it all dark and secret.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Smith. “Of course we will pay our bills in the morning at the last minute.”

“I think,” said the wag, “that after all, the clerk looks like a loyal American citizen, and can be trusted. And as the Sheridan is at the dock, in plain sight of the hotel and such of San Francisco as cares to go and look at it, we will have to take the chance that the day after it sails, it will not be missed—or folks will think it has gone up to Mare Island Navy Yard to be painted or something. That, however, is one of the hazards of war—we must risk the deductions of the local amateur sleuths and spies of the Kaiser.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Smith, and handed him the sealed envelopes for baggage, with the tag-string sticking out a slit in the end.

In the morning the porter took out my bedding-roll and lockers, and moved my grip to the hotel veranda. He looked at the envelopes, seeking the destination of the baggage, but I coldly informed him that an army truck would take them from the baggage entrance of the hotel, and he need not worry. He felt relieved.

I went to the desk and asked for my bill. A prosperous citizen asked the clerk when the next trans-Pacific ship sailed.

“I’m not sure,” said the clerk. “There is some ship sailing to-day, because there are a lot of officers here going to Siberia. That’s their baggage out on the porch. But probably they are going in the transport Sheridan or Logan—I understand they sail to-day.”

The clerk did not know it, but I felt like shooting him. At least something should be done about it. We had done our best to be secret, and here he was telling a perfect stranger with a diamond in his tie and wearing most suspicious spats, the fact that this was the regular sailing date for transports from San Francisco, and that we were going to Siberia. But I paid my bill, and gave a bellboy a quarter just to show there were no hard feelings.

Outside on the veranda I found the officers standing about with their luggage, the center of an interested group of civilians, and drawn up in a semi-circle, a fleet of taxis. Smith was nervously waiting my coming. Immediately he began calling out numbers, and taxis turned in and stopped, and by pairs, the officers took their places in the vehicles.