He told me that he had lived in New York for a time before he was married, and loved my country and its good people. He was on a short leave of absence to see his family. He said he had been a little jealous, when his wife had told him about the kindness of the Americans who were billeted at his home.
One day while I was sitting on a bench by my quarters, holding the little girl and talking to her father, a slim black-eyed young man came up, and abruptly said, “Good morning, sirs!”
I looked distrustfully at him, for we had been warned against English-speaking German spies, and then opened my eyes with astonishment, for he looked as much like my friend, Jot, as one English sparrow looks like another.
“Who are you?” I inquired. “What do you want?”
“I am on important business,” he responded politely, “for the army.”
“What do you mean by that?” I said. “Are you an American?”
“I was born in America,” he replied with indescribable dignity, “and have lived there a good part of my life. But I was educated on this side.”
Then I remembered what Jot had told me about his half-brother’s resemblance to himself and I distrusted him all the more.
“Where’s your uniform?” I asked. “Why are you in citizen’s dress?”
For answer he pointed to a loosely hanging sleeve.