"Johnny," she implored, "for goodness' sake get me out of this horrid place so I can change these clothes."
"There's decent enough dresses at the police station," suggested a smiling officer.
"Call the wagon," said Johnny.
Soon they were rattling away toward the station, Mazie, Cio-Cio-San, and Johnny.
"Johnny," Mazie whispered, "you didn't desert, did you?"
"Did you think that?" Johnny groaned in mock agony.
"No, honest I didn't, but what—what did you do?"
"Just got tired of waiting for Uncle Sam to bring me home from Russia, so I walked, that's all. Here's my discharge papers, all right. And here's my transportation."
With a smile Johnny handed her the two crumpled papers.
"You see," he exclaimed, "a Russian brigand got me in the left arm when I was guarding the Trans-Siberian Railroad. They sent me to the hospital, then gave me my discharge. Said I'd be no more good as a soldier. And after waiting for a boat that never seemed to come I hit out for the north. Nothing crooked about that at all, but I had to be a bit sly about it anyway, for Uncle Sam don't like to have you take chances even if you are discharged."