The superman presented it, and the guard inspected it closely—the attitude of the M. P. being that all men are Germans unless proved otherwise.
“Thoroughly satisfactory?” inquired the superman.
The M. P. grunted.
The sergeant approached him and lowered his voice confidentially.
“Tell you something,” he volunteered: “I’m not the same chap who went out on that pass.”
“What d’you mean you’re not?”
“It’s like this, old son. But first of all let me ask you something.” He glanced about cautiously. “Man to man, old son—do you believe in love at first sight?”
“Last fellow who tried being funny round here,” said the guard grimly, “had a chance to laugh himself to death in the bull pen.”
“No heart!” sighed the sergeant, moving on, still on air. “No soul! No imagination! Good night, my sad and lonely friend. Good night!”
He moved on, singing in a very deep bass: