“One franc, monsieur,” said Auguste.
Which means, if Auguste is to be believed, that one hundred and seventy-eight highballs went down one throat in two days. And the owner of the throat is still alive and well. Also, he says he will hereafter pay as you enter.
As an appetizer for dinner to-night the captain told everybody to remain on deck, fully dressed and armed with a life-belt, this evening, until he gave permission to retire.
We’re all on deck, and in another minute it will be too dark to write.
To-morrow night, Boche willing, we will be out of the jurisdiction of this Imp of Darkness.
II
I GET TO PARIS AND ENCOUNTER SOME STRANGE SIGHTS
Friday, August 17. A French Port.
In obedience to the captain’s orders we remained on deck last night, fully dressed, till our ship was past the danger zone and in harbor. There was a rule against smoking or lighting matches, but none against conversation.
The Gentleman from Louisiana and a young American Field Service candidate had the floor. The former’s best was a report of what he saw once while riding along beside the Columbia River. An enormous salmon jumped out of the water and raced six miles with the train before being worn out. Whether the piscatorial athlete flew or rode a motorcycle, we were unable to learn.
The Gentleman from Louisiana yielded to his younger and stronger countryman. Some one had spoken of the lack of convoy. “Don’t you think we haven’t a convoy,” the kid remarked.