“Those small details,” he said, “exempt you from military duty. But we want you as a war correspondent.”
I told him I knew nothing about war. He said it had frequently been proved that that had nothing to do with it. So we hemmed and we hawed, pro and con, till my conscientious objections were all overruled.
“In conclusion,” said he, “we’d prefer to have you go on a troopship. That can be arranged through the War Department. There’ll be no trouble about it.”
Monday, July 30. A Potomac Port.
To-day I took the matter up with the War Department, through Mr. Creel.
“Mr. Creel,” I said, “can I go on a troopship?”
“No,” said Mr. Creel.
There was no trouble about it.
Wednesday, August 1. An Atlantic Port.
The young man in the French Consulate has taken a great fancy to me. He will not visé my passport till I bring him two more autographed pictures of myself.