Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 122: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

464 absurdly pretty face and thought her the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Of course she was German — German enough to be the cousin of this pink- cheeked baron, the sister of Corporal Rudy, as I guessed that evening when I heard the baron call Rudy “ Vetter,”’ too, and Louie told me that meant cousin— German enough to be here with her kin, however in the world she had got here, lending all the energy and courage she had to them in a forlorn island likely at any moment to be turned into a hell of deadly danger. But she was American, too. I could guess that this was not the first time she had given Uncle Sam the support of her highly colloquial eloquence. No doubt the whole station teased her. A lot of good-natured and bitterly lonely soldiers or sailors would be sure to tease as pretty a girl as she was. But I imag- ined they had not teased her about Amer- ica after the first week of her stay among them, whenever that had been. I forgave her her bad English. Al- though I had never counted my own pa- triotism anything to brag about, it struck me that a heart as loyal as hers could be plenty of excuse for overlooking the fact that the tongue tied to it talked the slang and grammar of shops and cheap tene- ments. The man that won that loyal lit- tle heart would be well paid for the labor it might cost him to train the tongue to higher speech—would be rich in posses- sing it even if his labor utterly failed. Was I willing to be the man for the labor or the failure even? Well—I forgot all about our parlous position in figuring that she liked Americans better than Ger- mans, and that, of the two real male Americans present, the other one had shattered his chances with the girl beyond all hope of repair. While I was doing this reflectirig the others were talking—mostly in German. It appeared that our position was rapidly getting over the worst of its parlousness. At all events, the Herr Lieutenant was leading us out to a shady spot under what THE ARGOSY. was left of a pair of palms for afternoon coffee and cigarettes. As we stepped from the shack the Louisa II was being towed very carefully into the tiny harbor. The baron stopped for an appraising and approving glance. ‘IT say, Herr Baron,” Louie spoke up in a manner that indicated the effective- ness of his normal buoyancy; “is there any good reason why we shouldn’t remain prisoners aboard my yacht?” ‘“T was on the point of making that suggestion myself, Mr. Hartmann,” the lieutenant responded warmly. “ We real- ly haven’t any spare room for prisoner$ on shore here.” “ And, may I ask if there’s anything in the code to forbid me the pleasure of in- viting our captor and his company aboard this evening for a little dinner in honor— in honor of—” Louie broke off falter- ingly. “Des Katsers?” prompted the captor. ‘““Oh, I say,” Hartmann appealed to him, “ you wouldn’t ask that of me yet, would you? You know, I told you I’m all against you in sentiments about this war.” _ “What then?” Louie’s honesty had almost put the skids under his painfully built-up safety and near-friendship with the man who held us prisoners of war. The baron’s tone had turned stiff and sharp again. “Well, I'd like to make it a dinner in honor of your pretty cousin, and by way of a public apology from one American for insulting the navy of the best little American ever. Wouldn’t that go?” Baron von Hilberstein’s face relaxed. He glanced toward the shining smile on the face of his subordinate cousin Rudy. ‘“T guess we could stand for that,” he decided. “Eh, Rudy? The way the food’s been lately I could almost dine in honor of any of the Allies except Eng- land.” It was after the coffee, as we were be- ing escorted by Rudy back to our own yacht, now very securely tied to the side of the long pier at the end of which the comicloool C©