“Say, what’s your state?” he inquired of his countryman.
“Maine,” replied the lieutenant.
“Aroostook County?” demanded the captain.
“No, Skowhegan on the Amonoosuc. Born in Penobsticook myself, but my folks was raised on the Allegash,” grinned the officer.
When the captain had whistled again, he observed, “Like to be back there, wouldn’t you, in a country where they have Christian names you can pronounce?” And the lieutenant embellished his assent gracefully, with expletives.
“These young Napoleons,” he began soon, indicating the little major’s green cap which bobbed in the rear, “are interfering with my orders. They say that you’ve been running a spy ranch. Their chiefs have pulled out for the Yalu, so they want to dicker with Tokio before I take you cruising and talk over the spring fishing back home.”
“Let me give you a tip on that, lieutenant,” said the captain, putting his hand on the officer’s shoulder. Then he whispered awhile into the young man’s ear. At first the lieutenant shook his head seriously; then quite as gravely dug the captain in the ribs. And as the delegation, including the manikin major, withdrew, Brewster called after to his new friend, “Mind the boys use only blank shells. We want a bluff, not an international war.”
And so the little cavalry officer never came back to his prisoner at all. In half an hour, “Boom-boom!” resounded guns from the blue Tai-Dong. The doll-eye thrust his head into the paper door. “You hear? You hear?” he cried pointing to smoke curling about the Stars and Stripes on the river.
“America—Japan—cross—fight—so,” said Brewster, linking his two forefingers. And the doll-eye dashed away.
The captain’s ruse of firing blank shots to force the telegram had worked. When he believed that the coast was clear, he stepped out on the veranda. Only the lieutenant from Maine was walking up the hill.