"Wouldn't it be fun to play hide-and-seek at Number Four and in the Hotel Crillon?" I asked.
"That's just what they're doing here most of the time," said Atlanta, Georgia. "You never saw anything like it. But you mustn't speak of the Hotel Crillon. This is the Island of Justice, mom. Yes, mom, it certainly expects to be that if it isn't yet."
In the garret room of the Signal Corps at the top of the stairs were five soldiers.
"Hello, boys, what do you think you are doing?" I asked.
"We're still making this here peace," answered a stocky brown-eyed lad, occupied vigorously with chewing-gum. "Since these guys've come over from home to help us, though, it is not going as fast as it was before. Mistake to have thought they'd do it quicker by talking than fighting."
"That's right, too," put in another. "The doughboys c'd a-finished it 'thout all these perfessers and willy-boys. Sit down here, please."
In the gable window was a chair with screens behind it. On the screen above the chair they put up a number—1949.
"My soul!" I exclaimed. "What's the matter with me? Is that the date?'
"No, ma'am, that's the date when the Conference is going to quit talking and we can go home."