“For the present,” said the officer, “you must not leave the hotel. Later on we’ll talk things over.”
In the café on Sunday night Mr. Kiley met an American and told him his troubles. The American had a car of his own in Le Havre and plenty of gasoline. He would be glad to give Mr. Kiley enough to start him on his way.
“But I can’t go,” said Mr. Kiley, “till I’ve fixed it with the police. I’ll have to look for them.”
He didn’t have far to look. No. 2 was in the lobby.
“Yes,” said No. 2, “you can leave town if you leave quick. There must be no more foolishness. The only thing that saves you from arrest is your uniform.”
Mr. Kiley left town and left quick, and, aside from his four blow-outs, had an uneventful trip to Paris.
But what if I had taken that assignment—I with no uniform except one willed me by the Chicago Cubs? O Boy!
Saturday, August 25. Paris.
On advice of counsel I went to Colonel Anonymous of the American General Staff and besought him to fix it so that I might get to one of our camps without further stalling. Colonel Anonymous said it was all right with him and telephoned to Major Noname, who seemed to have authority in affaires journalistic.
Major Noname, fortunately, is a baseball fan. I told him what I did know, and lots that I didn’t know about our national pastime, and the reward was an American press pass to the infantry camp, S. in F.