“Geneva and Locle are near the border,” I said, “and all they have to do is to take a hop, skip and a jump to get there. There are some from over the Rhine, too,” I added, for I did not relish his implication that all deserters were from France.
“Well, diss one is American, anyway,” he said.
“And how about his German coat?” I asked; “how do you know he is American?”
“He iss crazy, dat is why,” he laughed. “He must be alwavss camping out. Don’t you worry about him.”
“He is not crazy,” I retorted, a bit nettled, “but I will tell you what is the matter with him——”
“Sure, he iss lazy.”
“He is suffering from shell shock or something of that sort,” I said, ignoring his remark. “And what I should like to know is, how did he find his way up here in such a state. Besides,” I added, “he should have care and companionship. He is in no condition to be living in that hole of a cave. Do you know anything about him?”
“He come apout a mont’ ago—nobody knows how. I ask him een, put he will haff nudding. The childrens, dey call him de gray meteor. Maybe he come from Mars—what?”
I soon found that if this poor, strayed soul had ever been a sensation he had long since ceased to be one. The children still found him a source of entertainment, made fun of him, and I am afraid, annoyed him. Otherwise he lived in his cave, shunned the village and all other haunts of men. I understood that he lived chiefly on fish which he caught, but sometimes the children left food near his solitary retreat.
As to his being a deserter, that may very well have been the case, I thought, but deserter or not, he was suffering from shell shock if I knew anything about the manifestations of that dreadful thing.