Well, we got to Paris again and now I was Sergeant Major Canwick and the promotion came about as a result of Captain Winstead’s trying to get me a transfer. He discovered that he would have to talk to General Backett about it and the General promptly and irrevocably declared that he couldn’t get along without me. “Isn’t an old soldier entitled to any consideration in this army?” he asked the Captain. “If I didn’t have Canwick, I wouldn’t have any staff at all.”

And the upshot of it was that I received a boost, in appreciation of my services. The General told me, “I had forgot about you, Sergeant, until that Captain came around suggesting that I could get along without you.”

So I suppose I had to thank the Captain for it.... Besides, I didn’t know whether I would be any safer with him anyway. No doubt I wouldn’t get caught up by any inspections or anything like that, but when you’re with a man all the time, and you love him as terribly much as I loved the Captain, and there isn’t much to do except love him and let him love you—well, I didn’t think it would be the safest thing in the world.

The best thing for us was to get married: but we hadn’t been able to figure out a means of doing it. There were all sorts of obstacles: the army regulations required a lot of information about the girl and the French had a lot of red tape that you had to go through. It looked rather out of the question at present, but the Captain said he’d dope out some way—and I hoped he would, for he was “mon homme” or I was crazy as a bedbug.

Big things were in the wind. Everyone there in Paris had the spirit of victory now. No more pessimism. No more kicks and complaints and passing the buck. Allied hopes were running strong at last and it looked as if the Germans were on the run. The Allied armies were driving ahead relentlessly from the Rhine to the sea. It was just as if the proverbially slow grinding mills of the gods were at last beginning to grind into the promised and inevitable dust the selfish ambitions of that predatory Prussian gang.... All about us was activity and renewed enthusiasm. A new spirit seemed to permeate the atmosphere of the French capital, and even the General was moved to comment upon it.

“It looks as if the fireworks would end without our getting even a glimpse of them!” he said regretfully. “God knows I want the business over, but I’m going to get up there where the action is just once, for at least one glimpse, if I die in the attempt!”

I didn’t know what we could be doing up there, but I was just as curious to see it at first-hand as the General was. It wouldn’t make me mad if he managed to go up.... Which reminded me that Leon was up there somewhere. I hadn’t heard from him. Didn’t know where he was. Wouldn’t know if he were dead. If anything happened to him, I’d be in a beautiful mess, to be sure!

Yet, somehow, for some unaccountable reason, I just couldn’t picture Leon getting himself killed. I couldn’t imagine him in any field of danger, regardless of the great change that had come over him. My memory of the old Leon was too keen to permit me to worry much about him throwing his life away. So I wasn’t reading the casualty lists very anxiously. I did wonder sometimes if he was in danger and if he’d found it possible to obey the admonition that was the motif of that marching song he so hated: I mean the one about “Keep Your Britches Dry.”

I’d ceased to worry about him, though. What I wanted now was to get married—and how! The Captain was a changed man: honestly, I hardly knew him, he was so different. No more wild parties. No more women. No more anything, but me. He had managed to get the soldier part out of his head and now he thought of me only as a girl. He called me Canwick when Ben or anyone else was around, but the minute we were alone it was “Leona” this and “Leona” that. If he had called me Canwick or Sergeant then, I’d have passed out from the shock: I mean, if nobody was around. We sure were a funny Damon-Pythias combination, and I’ll bet there was more than one man in this man’s army making dirty cracks about us behind our backs.

My rÔle now was in many respects more difficult than it was before the Captain learned of my identity. Then I was a man all the time and to everyone. Now I was a man one minute and a woman the next. I had to change character so quickly sometimes and with such little warning that it was a wonder I hadn’t given myself away before this. It was really very trying on the nerves to be feeling nice and comfy with the man you love and then have to effect a sudden transformation into a semihard-boiled egg of a sergeant just because somebody else blew in. And I could see that it was trying on the Captain’s nerves, too.

Well, part of the difficulties were solved. The Captain hit upon the idea of calling me by the same name “Leony” under all circumstances, in order not to keep him on the jump all the time. Well, I didn’t mind, but I couldn’t retaliate: I mean, I couldn’t call him Clark all the time. I had to hop around between Clark one minute and Captain Winstead the next. However, we were progressing.

Ben was kinda shocked the first time he heard the Captain call me Leony instead of Sergeant or Canwick, but the Captain said, “What the hell’s the matter with you? Haven’t I as much right to call him Leony as you have?... And I call you Ben, don’t I?”

“Sure—sure,” agreed Ben. “It just seems funny to hear an officer callin’ the kid here Leony, that’s all.”

“Aw—go take a drink for yourself, Ben,” the Captain told him laughingly.

So I guess Ben didn’t suspect anything funny. He was so used to being called Ben that it seemed perfectly natural for anyone to call him that. If General Pershing ever happened to mention the name in his hearing, Ben would have assumed at once that the Commander in Chief meant Ben Garlotz, and would have promptly reported to the General.... Ben was a good guy all right, but he didn’t need to get funny ideas just because people used my nickname as well as his. My nickname was as good as his, even if it did sound sort of effeminate and odd. But then there was a lot of odder things in the world than that.

We were in the army yet: but nobody would know it to judge by the way I felt most of the time. “In the clouds” would be more appropriate as a descriptive phrase.

Well, we were working pretty hard those days and the General was pulling strings in an effort to take a trip up to the active sectors.

Ben was determined we should all go out for a celebration one night and the Captain had a devil of a time convincing him that he was “off the wine and women.” We finally did get rid of him, however, and we spent the rest of the evening trying to dope out some way of getting married.

It certainly was a problem. In the first place, the very idea of two soldiers getting married, to each other, was enough to make anyone laugh. How could we explain to any priest, minister or chaplain that one of us was a woman? Who could say which was the bride and which the groom? And who would be crazy enough to perform a ceremony for such a pair of obvious jokers?... The end of the evening found us exactly where we started: I didn’t see how we were ever going to get married until after this war was over. But Clark insisted that we do it, somehow. Well, I wasn’t going to worry any more about it. If he could think up some means of getting us married without me getting into trouble, all well and good. Otherwise—well, I did want to marry him as soon as possible.

When Ben came home that night he was lit to the ears and insisted upon singing. I gathered that he had just mastered the words to that Franco-American ditty that runs like this:

And when Ben bellowed in French, he slid over or mispronounced all the words he didn’t know and emphasized with a roar such unmistakable things as “jig-a-jig” and “toute de suite.” His music was atrocious!

He had picked up another ballad that’s crude but rather cute:

Indeed, my bunkmate was so busy learning additions to his repertoire that he really couldn’t have much time left to get suspicious of me.... He was mumbling that “nom de nom” thing even after he got in bed, and I think he must have sung himself to sleep: at least he was still crooning it when I dropped off to keep my date with Morpheus.

A few nights later we had a close call. It was such a close call that I had the shivers. That dumb-bell Ben comes tramping into the Captain’s, opening the door even as he knocked, and for about five seconds I was paralyzed, for I didn’t have enough time to think, let alone extricate myself from Clark’s arms.

Just by grace of God the only light in the place was what came in from the bedroom, so Ben really couldn’t tell exactly what he was seeing. He stood there stupidly staring at us for a minute or so, then the Captain says, “Where’s your sidekicker, Ben?” And Ben was so flustered, he just said “’Scuse me, Captain—I’ll go find him.” And out he went, closing the door behind him.

He didn’t find me, however, and when he came back an hour later, I was still there. He looked rather funny at me but started in to kid the Captain about his “lovin’ party” saying, “Ya oughta lock yer door when ya’re plannin’ anything like that, Captain! The broad’s husband might walk in on ya, ya know.”

I guess the Captain thought we’d better treat him well, under the circumstances, for he hauled out a bottle and three glasses and we had several shots of refreshment.

Finally Ben recalled that he had been looking for me. “Where the hell you been, Leony?” he demanded.

“I had some errands to do,” I replied. “And I figured I’d meet you here anyway.”

“Did ya see the mam’selle the Captain had?” he winked at me behind his hand.

“No—guess she left before I showed up,” I said.

“She usually does,” said the Captain, with a laugh.

Well, after a couple of drinks, Ben asked the Captain if he wanted to hear the new songs he’d just learned, and when nobody offered any objections he entertained us for half an hour bellowing out those barbaric ballads, while the Captain kept time for him by clicking a silver pocket-piece against a wine bottle.... There was no getting rid of the big boy that night.... And we were no nearer getting married!

Three days later the General connected and we were going on a jaunt to see the sights. I asked him where we would go and what we would have to do.

“We’re going up through ChÂteau Thierry and Epernay and right along until we reach Toul and Nancy.... Just a little tour of observation ... look over some hospitals and their subsidiary organizations ... see how this war is being fought ... may even get a glimpse of fireworks and hear a few boches groan!”

“When do we go?”

“Oh—not for several days yet.”

So I reported this news to Clark as soon as I could get in touch with him, and we both just walked the floor and racked our brains for a scheme that would enable us to get married.

“Dammit all, Leona!” he said, over and over again, “Something must be done! You’re the first girl I ever wanted to marry, and here you are chasing away off to the woods. God only knows when you’ll get back!”

“Well—I’ll be back sometime,” I reminded him, trying to make us both feel better about it.

“Sometime isn’t as good as now!” he declared. “You’re the first girl I ever wanted to marry, and by the lord chief justice, I’m going to marry you, somehow, somewhere——!”

“Sometime!” I added, with a kiss for good measure.

“Not sometime: now!” he insisted. “I want you more than it’s right for any man to want a girl without getting her.... And what if something should happen to you? My God, I’d never forgive myself!... I ought to get you transferred in spite of General Backett.... I’ll get you a commission.... Or have you made a Field Clerk ... I’ll do something to keep you from going up there!”

“Don’t be foolish, sweetheart,” I told him. “I really want to go, for one thing; and also if you made any great effort to get me out of it, you might just get me into trouble.... Better to let well enough alone ... I’ll be back, safe and sound.... Let’s enjoy what little time we have now....”

But he was not to be calmed. He kept pacing back and forth, talking impossible things and swearing politely over the way things were going, when he suddenly stopped and burst into smiles.

“Comment?” I inquired.

“I’ve got it!” he cried gleefully. “Just the thing! My God, but we’re dumb not to think of such a simple way!” He danced a jig of jubilation.

“What is it?” I asked. “Have you gone crazy?”

“We’ve got to get a license before we do anything else,” he finally explained. “We’ll go to a shop to-morrow and get you outfitted from pate to pied in the chicest apparel a mademoiselle can wear. Then we’ll trip along and visit a mairie somewhere outside of Paris.... TrÉs bien!”

“But how can I use my own name?” I objected, trying to find loopholes in his scheme.

“That’s just the reason for going outside the city, chÈre,” he explained. “We’ll drift out to some little burg and nobody will be the wiser about Miss Leona Canwick, born in Wakeham.”

“I wasn’t born in Wakeham.”

“Well, wherever you were born—it makes no difference.... And in a few short days from now, we’ll get us hitched tightly together pour la vie!”

“Well—” I tried to think of some other objection, but I couldn’t, so we finally agreed to try his plan next day.

In the morning I got away long enough to purchase a frock and everything to go with it, from hat to shoes, and had it all sent to the Captain’s rooms, in his name. Then in the afternoon I got away early and met Clark. We had a bite to eat and went to his place, where I made a quick change to the new clothes. He had to run out to get me some rouge and lipstick and face powder, but eventually I looked decent enough to appear on the street. Clark held me at arm’s length and surveyed me critically; then, when he was satisfied, he insisted upon mussing me all up by kissing me and almost crushing me in his arms, so I had to waste more time on my toilette.

Finally we set off, but we no more than got out of the door before we bumped into Ben himself, and the look on his face was enough to make a wooden soldier laugh. “Uh—uh—uh—” he tried to speak but succeeded only in gulping and staring the harder at me.

I didn’t know what to do. It occurred to me to laugh and tell him that we were playing a joke on one of the Captain’s friends, but I didn’t have time to carry this inspiration into action, for the Captain spoke up, almost without any hesitation at all. “Glad to see you, Ben.... Also glad to have you meet Leony’s twin sister.... You’ve heard me speak of her, haven’t you?” He turned to me and said, “Miss Canwick, this is your brother’s best friend and dearest enemy, Sergeant Garlotz.”

“How do you do, Sergeant Garlotz,” I said, smiling brightly. “I’m awfully glad to meet you ... I’ve heard of you through Leon.”

“Glad to meet you, Miss Canwick,” he mumbled awkwardly, continuing to stare at me. “You’re the livin’ image of your brother ... only nicer lookin’, o’ course!” He managed to smile as he gave this final observation.

“Don’t be flattering my fiancÉe,” interrupted the Captain. “Were you looking for Leon, Ben?”

“Yeh—I thought he’d be here with you, Captain.”

“He’s supposed to be, sometime this evening,” my companion informed him. “He hasn’t seen his sister yet.... I saw him, perhaps half an hour ago, and he said he had an errand to do.... Let’s see, where was he going?”

“Maybe I could find him,” Ben observed, willing to say anything that would necessitate his staying a few minutes longer.

“I’ll tell you what you do, Ben,” said the Captain. “He was going over to see M’sieur ... what the devil was that name?... Oh, yes: M’sieur Taureau. You can get him on the phone at Les Abattoirs de la Rive Gauche, on the ... let’s see ... on the Rue des Morillons.”

“Huh?” Ben grinned his ignorance. “If you’ll just write that down, Captain, I’ll try an’ get him.... He’s an awful guy to keep track of, ain’t he?”

We smiled our agreement while the Captain wrote down the address on a slip of paper. “There you are, Ben.... And if you find that rascal, tell him to get over here as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” says Ben, moving away, but turning to tell me that “I’m glad to’ve met ya, Miss Canwick.”

“The pleasure is mutual, Sergeant Garlotz,” I said, as he disappeared into the stairway.

We waited a few minutes then. Time for a few kisses and caresses. Then we set off once more, found a taxi, rode for an hour or more and arrived in Corbeil just in time to transact our little business. It was no trouble at all. A few questions. Captain Winstead showed papers to identify himself. We signed some book, and the trick was done. Another ride and we were back at the Captain’s and I was getting out of that outfit and into my O.D.’s. While I dressed I ran over in my mind the various scenes of this little play and when I came into the other room to rejoin Clark, the first thing I said was, “You’ve got me into a fine mess with your jokes? What if Ben tried to phone that address you gave him? He’ll be tearing mad and will suspect right away that I am not what you said I was. Then what will I say?”

“Oh, he probably didn’t even try to phone M’sieur Taureau,” he replied, with a laugh. “And if he did, we’ll just say it was a joke, that’s all.... Of course, you’ll have to tell him your sister’s in town ... tell him she just arrived in Paris from Spain.”

“But he’ll want to see us together as sure as I’m standing here,” I objected.

He didn’t have any suggestions to make in this regard, until after he had thought it all over again. Then he said, “Well, you’ll have to tell him that your sister is leaving town to-night. Then he won’t wonder why he doesn’t see the two of you together, because you can’t be together if she isn’t here.” He reached for his cap and blouse. “Just the thing! And I’ll run over to the hotel now, before you go home. I’ll tell him we’ve been waiting hours for you to show up and say good-by to your sister before she leaves ... that you had to go because you’re with a party of friends.... And for him to give you holy hell for not keeping your appointment with her.... How’s that for a foolproof story?”

“Sounds all right,” I admitted. “But what reason have I for not keeping the appointment?”

“Just say you couldn’t get here and couldn’t get us on the phone.... You can blame anything on the Paris telephone service, you know.”

So his plan was carried out. He found Ben at home and told him his story before Ben had a chance to ask about the joke. Then when he returned to the rooms, I left and went home to receive a verbal trouncing from my roommate. He had finished two bottles of wine and was feeling rather cocky, so told me in great detail about meeting my sister with the Captain and about the Captain coming to find me “because your sister had to go on without sayin’ good-by to ya!... Ain’t you a fine specimen of Amer’can manhood, with a nice li’l sister like that, an’ you oft somewhere gettin’ cockeyed? Ya oughta be ashamed o’ yourself!”

I told him I was and tried to act and sound very sorry because I had missed my sister. But as soon as I had him calmed down on that score, he changed to the subject of the telephone address the Captain gave him.

“What the hell’s that guy think I am anyway?” he wanted to know. “I ask him where you was an’ he wrote down this address an’ told me to call ya up there. So I went out an’ found a telephone an’ asked a frog to get the number for me, an’ he wouldn’t do it: just stood there and laffed at me.”

“What for?” I asked innocently.

“That’s what I wanted to know, an’ he says, ‘You cannot have those number.’... I says, ‘How do you know this Monsoor Taureau ain’t got no phone?’... He says ‘Your friend have play joke with you. M’sieur Taureau is M’sieur le Bull, comprenez-vous?’... ‘Whatayamean Bull?’ says I.... ‘Eet is—what you say? a place where peegs is killed? what you call him?’... ‘Slaughterhouse?’ I says.... ‘Oui—that ees it, M’sieur.... Your frien’s ’ave tole you to call M’sieur le Bull at the slaughterhouse on the Left Bank ... a joke, non?’... An’ I says it’s a hell of a joke!”

“Did the Captain do that?” I asked incredulously.

“Course he did!... An’ what if I’d gone way the hell and gone over there to find ya?... Say, I’d ’a’ busted somebody’s head!”

“Aw, don’t get sore about a little joke,” I told him. “You know the Captain. He knew you wouldn’t go over there....’ Be a sport and laugh at a joke on yourself!”

He was finally pacified and we turned in for the night.... My head was going round in circles from the strain of the marriage business....

We had a marriage license, or its French equivalent, but we were not married yet, and two days had gone by. The General was working like a madman, trying to clean up everything around there before we went, because he said we would probably not get to Paris again for six weeks or more. I was sweating gumdrops.

Next evening I expected to be married. I had no trousseau, except a new pair of breeches. No wedding gown, except the street dress I bought the other day, and which was still at Clark’s. I hadn’t even a bridal nightie—not even a pair of pajamas: I had had to sleep in my underwear and with my shirt on for so long that I’d probably pile in the same way on my bridal night, just from force of habit. What an unromantic affair this was! No friends to witness the ceremony. No bridal reception. No wedding veil. No flowers. No perfumed bed of alluring softness. No honeymoon. No nothing, except the man I loved which was more than a lot of women have when they get married.

I shall never forget any of the details of that last hectic night in Paris! Trouble began with Ben, as usual, for he showed up at Clark’s and refused to leave. “This is our last night in Gay Paree, an’ we gotta celebrate to-night if we never do again!” he declared, while Clark and I swore under our breaths at the big galoot.

We were in a hurry anyway, because we didn’t know how long we had to get this wedding over with and every minute wasted might be a fatal loss. I was just about to change my clothes, when Ben came in, and of course then I had to postpone any changing until we could get rid of him.

Finally the Captain took him out for a few drinks, thinking I could change while they were out, but I refused to take a chance, because I figured Ben would be suspicious for sure then and would naturally demand to know what had become of Sergeant Canwick, now that his sister was here. Clark was surprised when they came back and found me still there and in uniform, but I managed to explain my attitude without Ben getting wise, so we fell to devising ways and means of getting rid of him.

But Ben was determined to be a monkey wrench that night. He wouldn’t budge for love nor money. Clark wanted him to carry a note to a woman over on the other side of the city, but Ben just laughed and waved the suggestion aside, saying, “No, sir, Captain, you don’t think I let guys fool me twice in one week, do you?... No, sir! Benny ain’t chasin’ no errands or carryin’ any messages anywhere this fine night!... Where you guys go to-night I go also!”

Well, after about half an hour of this, the Captain said, “Let’s go find a few drinks for ourselves, since Ben’s so anxious to inflame himself to-night.”

So we went out and parked in a cafÉ the Captain knew. There were two sections to the place and we were in the side where the bar wasn’t. After several drinks, gladly paid for by Clark, he told Ben to go up to the bar and pick out what he thought was the best stuff they had on the shelves. Ben fell for it, and as soon as he disappeared around the partition of the place, we ran out the other door and started away down the side street.

We hurried as much as possible, hoping to make the rooms before Ben could get there, but, sure enough, when we turned into the Captain’s street, Ben lumbered up beside us and demanded to know what the big idea was.

“For God’s sake!” exclaimed Clark. “We’re coming right back! What did you think—that we’re trying to give you the slip?... Don’t be foolish—I just happened to remember some papers I left layin’ around my room and we’re going back to get them.... Why don’t you go back and get those drinks ready? We’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

But Ben said he’d wait for us to come with him, so we plodded back to the rooms and Ben and I waited downstairs while he made a show of getting those papers he had mentioned.

We then went back to the cafÉ and Ben made a garÇon of himself running back and forth between our table and the bar. Between times, Clark and I tried to talk over the possible escapes.

“The big ape!” muttered my man, behind Ben’s back. “He’s bound to stick with us.... You can’t wear that rig now, that’s certain. And it’s getting later all the time. We’ve got to ride to Corbeil.... Damn that man anyway!”

“The General says we may not be in Paris again for six weeks or more,” I said, just to make us both feel worse.

“O God!” exclaimed Clark. “Isn’t there any way we can fool that cussed Ben?”

Ben came back just then so I didn’t have to answer, but by the time he left us again I had an inspiration, and promptly told Clark of it. “It sounds crazy, of course, but Ben expects crazy things of us.... Why don’t you go back to the rooms, rig yourself up in skirts, powder up, and come along?”

“My God, Leona—are you joking?”

“No—really—we can tell Ben you want to play a joke on one of your friends later in the evening.”

“But how does that help us any?”

“Well—maybe we can get him so drunk he’ll go home and go to bed, and then we can slip away to Corbeil and get married.”

Clark smiled doubtfully. “I’ll try anything when it’s necessary,” he said. “We’ll have to work pretty fast and we’ll probably go broke buying drinks enough to put that tanker under the table.... But I can do that in these clothes—why the masquerade?”

“Because then, wherever we are, we can go right along and get married without having to go back for me to change.”

“You mean I’ll be the bride and you the man?” he demanded incredulously.

“Surely.... You give me the papers and your belt and bars, and I’ll be Captain Winstead for the evening.”

“It’s a go!” he agreed. “But I’ll keep my uniform on underneath, in case there should be any trouble. We can fix you up in the taxi on the way out to Corbeil.”

So he left us and I set about pouring drinks into Ben while I explained about the Captain’s impending joke on his friends. Ben thought it an excellent joke. Said he’d much rather have a woman on the party than an officer, “because bars and badges give me the willies.”

Note after note came out of my pocket never to return again. Clark came back, looking very modish in the outfit he had procured somewhere. We set out to let Ben drink the city dry, and I knew from the beginning that it was going to be a long drawn out process, because his capacity was really something to wonder at. I mean, it was just like a bottomless well, and a dozen drinks more or less didn’t make much difference in the total depth or effect.

After we had visited four places, he began to get suspicious because we weren’t drinking with him, so Clark had to join him a few times.... We went on, from one wine shop to another, from cafÉ to buvette, from dive to cabaret, on and on through a never ending series of stops for things to dull the spirit and anÆsthetize the mind of this persistent “best man.”

I was beginning to wonder if we hadn’t better tell him the truth and let him be the “best man,” but when I stopped to think it over carefully, I concluded that this would be most inadvisable. I had to travel with him for months yet and besides when he got drunk he might tell anything he happened to remember.... The game went on.

But no results, nor indications of success, rewarded our efforts. We plied him with drinks, and it seemed that the more we gave him the more sober he grew: it was just one of those nights in his life when he could have drunk every variety and vintage of wine, champagne, cognac, rum and gin, and still have stayed on his feet with an air of mastery. He simply defied our dreams of wedded bliss, and as the hours moved slowly by us, my dreams began to tumble into nothingness.

At one place he decided that I was entirely too sober for the party and insisted that I join them in at least one good drink “just to please the nice lady”—meaning Clark. I couldn’t escape it, so I drank.

Now, I’d never tasted cognac straight except down there at St. Nazaire, when I did succeed in downing a few glasses of it, so it wasn’t any wonder to me that I choked and coughed and sputtered when that red hot bolt of liquid lightning hit my throat.... Ben socked me on the back so hard that I sprawled right across the table—but it did cure the choking, because it knocked the wind completely out of me.

Clark put his arm around me, dried my eyes with his handkerchief and caressed me until I regained my breath.

Ben looked on in dumb wonder and finally exclaimed. “That’s a fine way fer an officer to be treatin’ an inferior!... Why don’t ya give her yer smellin salts?”

“You big dumb-bell!” Clark told him. “You knocked the wind out of him!... And no more of your wise cracks.”

But Ben was beginning to feel unconquerable. “You two soul-mates!” he bawled at us. “’Sgood thing yer in those women’s dud er somebody’d think the both of ya’re queer!”

“Shut up and have another drink,” suggested Clark. “Will ya join me, Leony?” he asked.

“No, thanks—I can’t stand that stuff.”

He turned around and called to the waiter. “GarÇon! A bottle of that pink water ya got on the shelf up there!” And when the garÇon did not at once obey, he arose majestically, muttering, “Slowest damn butler we ever had!... I’ll get ya a bottle o’ somethin ya can drink, Leony!... You ain’t got hair ’nough on yer chest yet to drink cognac!”

I looked quickly at the Captain: the devil was actually laughing at that crack! But he straightened up to say, “If we don’t ditch him pretty soon, we may as well kiss our honeymoon good-by, chÈre.”

When Ben returned with the bottle of wine, we renewed the attack with a vengeance. I drank several glasses of wine to get him to drink a dozen of other things. Clark had to drink with him half the time, and I could see his eyes getting drowsy. I felt rather sleepy myself, and miserable. Clark began to get hilarious—and looked too comical for words in that woman’s raiment.

Suddenly he said, “Benny, I’ll wager you can’t down a bottle of rum and a bottle of wine in quick succession without stopping!”

“The hell I can’t!” retorted Ben. “What’s bet?” “Twenty francs and the charges.”

“You must be drunk, Captain,” opined Ben. “But I always say, ‘Never turn down a bargain’ and ‘Never count a gift horse’s teeth.’ ... Ya’re on!... GarÇon! GarÇon! Vit! A bottle o’ that Jamaica Niggerhead and another one o’ that pink ink!... Vit!”

As soon as the bottles appeared, the Captain laid twenty francs on the table and told the garÇon to wait a moment. Ben ups with the rum and drains the bottle, grabs the wine with the other hand and drinks the whole quart as a chaser, while the garÇon stared at him with a sickly grin. “B-a-a-a-a-a-a-a” bellows Ben, smacking his lips so loudly that people all over the place turned to look at us.

The Captain paid for the drinks and Ben pocketed the twenty francs, only to pull it out again immediately to order something else. “And say, you guys!” he says, while the garÇon is serving us. “Did ya ever see me stick pins and needles through my jaws?” Whereupon he pulls a sewing kit from his pocket, takes half a dozen pins and jams them through his cheek. Then he stuck three needles through the other cheek. And he opened his mouth and let out a roar that shook the house. He looked fantastic, with his cheeks puffed out and the gleaming pins and needles sticking out from them.... At last, I said to myself, he’s getting drunk!

It was almost closing time now and I decided to make a last break for freedom from the big monkey wrench. I sent him to the bar for a bottle of wine, then I seized Clark’s hand and literally dragged him off his seat and out the door.

But it was no go. Ben saw us and followed, bellowing like a million giants. On the pavement he caught up with us and demanded, “Where ya goin’? What’s the rush?... Christ A’mighty, anybody’d think you two had somethin’ to do ’sides paint this ole burg red, white and blue!... Now I suggest that we go visitin’ in some nice ladies’ parlors, mes amis!” And then he started to sing: “Bon soir, ma chÈre,” etc., in that rattling, growling, devastating howl of his.

Then he wanted us to have a drink of his own private concoction, a bottle of which he produced from his pocket. The Captain had to drink with him. Once more. Again. Clark was acting rather dizzy on his feet, but he managed to inquire, “My God, Ben, what is that—liquid dynamite?”

“Tha’s a Devil’s Dream,” Ben informed us. “In- vented by your own true an reliable frien’, Benny Garlotz, now making his last personal appearance in this city.... Captain, that stuff’s got everything in it that can be put in bottles, and two drinks of it makes ya a bona fide life member of the Anti-Saloon League!... It’s got a kick like a Mack truck and is guaranteed to make twins turn into quadruplets before yer eyes. Three drinks of it will make a buck private a General, and four drinks has been known to make a ninety-year-old woman have a litter o’ pups!... Step up, folks—roll up, tumble up, any way to get yer money up!... Money back guarantee goes with every bottle! Good for coughs, colds, burns, chills, fever, fallen arches, floatin’ kidneys, exhaust troubles of all kinds. One of the finest lubricants your transmission will ever have! The best oil in God’s world for petcocks, game cocks, haycocks, and all kinds of diseases, by jeeses, by jeeses!... It’s stronger’n garlic, onions, dead fish, or a decayed soldier! Used by the natives in South America to make reptiles eat their tails.... Good for anything, folks! God’s gift to man! Cures fits an’ kills cockroaches! Five drinks’ll make a mademoiselle rape her grandfather!... I’ve used it for years, and to it, ladies and gentlemen, I attribute my virility and fertility! Babies cry for it! Virgins die for it! Women lie for it!... And all for the small cost of one small nickel, half a dime, fifth of a quarter.... Hey, you guys, where the hell ya runnin’ off to?”

“For God’s sake, Ben, you’ll get us all pinched!” I told him, when he caught up with us.

“All right,” he agreed. “I’m drunk and proud of it! You’re drunk an’ ashamed of it! Captain’s drunk an’ don’t know whether he’s shamed or not!... Les go home while we can still get there!”

And he linked arms with us and started away. I gave up. What was the use of fighting a man like that? Besides, Clark was obviously too drunk to even think about getting married. A fine man to marry—couldn’t even stay sober on his wedding night! Ben began to sing:

And we marched away in the general direction of home, to the rhythm of that inane ditty that Ben picked up in that terrible city. We must have been a fantastic spectacle!

We finally reached the door that led up to the Captain’s rooms and I looked around for a cab, found one and bundled Ben into it. Then I returned to the doorway to see if Clark was all right. He pulled me into the shadows and asked, “Has he passed out? Is it too late?”

“Are you drunk or sober?” I demanded, wondering if I had misjudged him.

“Sober as a judge,” he replied. “But he doesn’t know it. How about that marriage ceremony?”

I held out my watch for him to see the time, as I said, discouragedly, “I guess Fate’s against us!... We’ll have to put it off, that’s all.”

“That damn big boozer!” he grumbled. “I’d like to smash his head for him!”

“Oh—he’s blissfully ignorant of our intentions,” I said.

“Damn him just the same!” And he swept me into his arms and held me there, crushed against him, while he kissed me and kissed me and kissed me.... Oh, but I wished then that we were married!

We heard Ben stirring so I had to run—and that was the nearest I came to being married that night, and the best farewell we could manage. I took Ben home and set him on his bunk. I sat down beside him, undecided whether to undress him or let him sleep with his clothes on; but while I was deciding, he began to undress himself, starting at the bottom.

My legs hung down beside his, and every time he made a lunge to capture one of his own, he caught one of mine instead. But that didn’t make any difference. The first one he got a good grip on was one of mine, and he unrolled the puttee, unlaced the shoe, blissfully ignorant of the fact that it wasn’t his own foot at all. Then he dropped it to the floor to rest from the exertion.

A moment later he continued his work, intending to remove the shoe this time, but when he reached for it, he missed and brought up one of his own instead. He proceeded calmly to undress that one, but he lost it before he could pull the shoe off and had to go hunting for it again.

But again he got the wrong one: this time the one of mine which was already prepared. He pulled the shoe off and dropped the leg down in its place, heaving a big sigh of satisfaction as he did so.

One more to go! He reached down to get it, caught the other one of mine and removed the leggings and untied the string, but again he lost it before he could pull off the shoe. When he tried to get it again, he got his own other one instead. He pulled and pulled and grunted and grunted, but in vain, because, of course, the shoe wasn’t even untied yet. He swore then, and dropped the foot to the floor. Then he leaned over and looked down upon the four feet that were dangling there. “Benny,” he mumbled with a chuckle, “ya’re drunker’n a cow’s tail in flytime!”

He reached once more for the foot that appeared to have an untied shoe on it, but he couldn’t pull it off, so gave up, unwrapped the legging, unlaced the shoe, but lost the foot before he could complete the job.

He was sweating gumdrops now as he took another long look at the four feet. Making a great effort, he lunged after one of them and brought up the one of mine that he had worked on first. The shoe was untied, so he pulled it off and solemnly planked it on the floor. He began to chuckle. “Guess ya ain’t so drunk, Benny, when ya can take ya’re shoes off!” And then, although neither of his own shoes were off, he fell back across the bunk with a lusty grunt of satisfaction. The poor devil had taken off two shoes, and he knew he only had two feet, so his conscience was perfectly clear in the matter.... No, he wasn’t drunk!

Well, I could have laughed or cried. I just felt like being hysterical—doing anything crazy! I looked at him, pulled him around so his feet and head were on the bed, looked at him again and said, “Why in the name of God, didn’t you do that three hours ago, you big roughneck!”... Then I crawled into bed and cried myself to sleep, because I knew he’d never hear me crying, and a girl just has to cry once in a while.

By the time we got ready to pull out in the morning, my nerves had quieted down and I felt more like myself. After all, why should we worry and fret about it—we’d get married later. I told Clark as much when he came down to see us off, but he still felt sore about it and he said, “The next time, we’ll get rid of him if we have to have him arrested!”

Ben appeared just then, and greeted the Captain with a hangover grin. “Well, Captain, your honor, sir, I certainly did hate to have to show you to your home, last night, but I was afraid o’ gettin’ pinched for bein’ with a disorderly lady.”

I thought Clark would take a poke at him then, but he didn’t and after a minute or so he actually smiled at Ben and said, “You’re still drunk, but I hope you can sober up before you get up where there’s any danger.... And Ben, Leony’s sister made me promise to take care of him, so I’ll have to leave him in your charge. See that he comes back safe and sound, will you? His sister’d be off me for life if anything happened to him.”

“Captain, sir,” replied Ben, taking his hand so solemnly that I knew at once he was still drunk, “I like you, I like Leony, and I liked his sister, and I can tell you that unless Leony begins gettin’ too familiar with me, I’ll bring him back as you mention.... Don’t worry about us, Captain!” He laughed. “There ain’t no boche got my number! No, sir!”

And just then the General and Chilblaines appeared. Clark saluted them and us and walked away.... A few minutes later and we were off to Meaux and ChÂteau Thierry. I guess I was just as happy now that we didn’t get married, for it occurred to me that it would be just my luck to start raising a family the very first thing. I remember that I once said

But I was no lady just now and having a baby under the circumstances would have been nothing short of burlesque. Just imagine the headlines in The Stars and Stripes, the newspaper of the A.E.F.:

Phenomenon complete surprise to even closest friends. General Pershing sends congratulations, but says he does not believe report. Sergeant-mother says boy’s father a secret-service worker. No one can deny it. Authorities promise thorough investigation. Very Special Delivery blamed on stork. General Harbord wonders if Sergeant can produce pigeon from silk handkerchief. Adjutant General threatens court martial of Sergeant for conduct unbecoming a noncommissioned officer.... Scandal spreads. Certain ominously rotund general officers under suspicion.... General Staff considering the issuance of manual on Care and Feeding of Infants as part of regular equipment.... France offers bounty for children regardless of their source. Doughboys say they can meet the demand. Bull market expected....

It wouldn’t sound nice at all, and I’d not only get into trouble with the army authorities, but I’d also be kidded to death about the matter.... Of course I hadn’t had any experience, but I was willing to bet that I wouldn’t go very long without starting something; and I was content to believe that I’d started enough already, without starting any babies!

Which just goes to show that there is a bright side to everything. I was turning into a regular pollyanna: getting so I could always find something to be thankful for. And as an expression of my appreciation of his unwitting efforts to save me from an embarrassing fate, I bought Ben a couple of good solid drinks at our next stop. No one could call me an ingrate!