Zaidos hurried on his way alone, and one bright morning, after many adventures, stood once more in Saloniki.
A porter came up to him, and at the same moment a man in the livery of his father’s house approached and saluted him. “Your father urges you to hasten, Excellency,” he said.
“Is my father very ill?” asked Zaidos.
“Very ill indeed, sir,” said the man.
They started through the station and as they left the building a man approached. He spoke to Zaidos, but the boy, having spent years of his life in America, failed to catch the rapidly spoken words.
He turned to the house-servant, who stood with bulging eyes.
“What does he say?” he asked.
The man was speaking violently, then beseechingly, to the stranger, who was in uniform.
“What is it?” again demanded Zaidos. He began to get the run of the conversation, but as he made it out, it was too preposterous to consider. The officer laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.
“You will have to come,” he said. “YOU ARE WANTED FOR THE ARMY.”