“The orders of the Commander are for the Americans to disembark!”

A lieutenant clicked his heels in front of our friends and saluted.

“Bub u lul lul yack!” shouted Jim. “Where? When?”

“Immediately!”

The submarine was on the surface of the water, but Jim and Kent had been ushered below, evidently to give their mysterious fellow prisoners a turn at the deck. They were never allowed to see them, and to this day are absolutely ignorant as to who they were or how many or of what nationality.

It turned out that a Swedish vessel, the Signy, had been sighted thirteen miles off the Spanish port of CamariÑas. She was signaled and ordered to take aboard the Kentuckians and land them. Explicit commands were given the captain of the Signy that she was to land the young men immediately.

Kent and Jim were too glad to get off the submarine to care where they were being landed. They only hoped it was not in South America.

“Gug o o dud bub yack!” shouted Jim to the grinning crew of the German vessel.

The young lieutenant of the inquisitive mind made another note in his little book as the life boat from the Swedish ship bore the young men away.

They were very cordially received on board the Signy but not allowed to stay a moment longer than was necessary. The ship steamed to within a few miles of the Spanish port, all the time being followed up by the submarine, then the boats were lowered again and Kent and Jim rowed to shore. They were given a good meal in the interim, however, one that they were most pleased to get, too, as black bread and canned stew had begun to pall on these favored sons of Kentucky.

“Where in the thunder is CamariÑas?” queried Kent. “I know it is Spain, but is it north, south, east or west?”

“Well, I reckon it isn’t east and that’s about all I know.”

It proved to be in the northwest corner and after some mix-ups, a person was found who could speak English. The American Consul was tracked, cablegrams were sent to Kentucky apprising their families of their safety, and at last our friends were on the train en route for Paris.

It was a long and circuitous journey, over and under and around mountains. They would have enjoyed it at any other time, but Kent was too uneasy about Judy to enjoy anything, and Jim was too eager to get in line to swat the Prussians, as he expressed it, to be interested in Spanish scenery. They traveled third class as they had no intention of drawing too recklessly on their hoarded gold.

After many hours of travel by day and night, they finally arrived in Paris. It was eleven at night and our young men were weary, indeed. The hard benches of the third class coaches had made their impression and they longed for sheets and made-up beds.

“A shave! A shave! My kingdom for a shave!” exclaimed Kent, as they stretched their stiffened limbs after tumbling out of the coach in the Gare de Sud.

“Don’t forget I am a stranger in a strange land, so put me wise,” begged Jim.

“I know a terribly cheap little hotel on Montparnasse and Raspail where we can put up, without even the comforts of a bum home, but we can make out there and it is cheap. The Haute Loire is its high sounding name, but it is not high, I can tell you.”

“Well, let’s do it. I hope there is some kind of a bath there.”

“I trust so, but if there isn’t, we can go to a public bath.”

The Kentuckians were a very much dishevelled pair. They had purchased the necessary toilet articles at CamariÑas, but sleeping for nights in suits in which they had already had quite a lengthy swim did not improve their appearance. The submariners had pressed their clothes after their ducking, but Jim’s trousers had shrunk lengthways until he said he felt like Buster Brown, and Kent’s had dried up the other way, so that in walking two splits had arrived across his knees.

“We look like tramps, but the Haute Loire is used to our type. I don’t believe we could get into a good hotel.”

“Are you going to look up your girl—excuse me, I mean Miss Kean, before you replenish your wardrobe?”

“Why, yes, I must not wait a minute. I would like to do it to-night.”

“To-night! Man, you are crazy! Get that alfalfa off your face first. One night can’t get her into much trouble.”

“Perhaps you are right. I am worn out, too, and a night’s rest and a shave will do wonders for both of us.”

Paris looked very changed to Kent. The streets were so dark and everything looked so sad, very different from the gay city he had left only a few weeks before. The Haute Loire had not changed, though. It was the same little hospitable fifth class joint. The madame received the exceedingly doubtful looking guests with as much cordiality as she would had they been the President of the Republic and General Joffre.

There were no baths that night, but tumbling into bed, our Kentuckians were lost to the world until the next day. What if the Prussians did fly over the city, dropping bombs on helpless noncombatants? Two young men who had been torpedoed; had floated around indefinitely in the Atlantic Ocean; had been finally picked up by the submarine that had done the damage; had remained in durance vile for several weeks on the submarine, resorting to Tutno to have any private conversation at all; and at last been transferred to a Swedish vessel and dumped by them on the northwest coast of Spain—those young men cared little whether school kept or not. The bombs that dropped that night were nothing more than pop crackers to them. The excitement in the streets did not reach their tired ears.

Kent dreamed of Chatsworth and of taking Judy down to Aunt Mary’s cabin so the old woman could see “that Judy gal” once more. Jim Castleman dreamed he swatted ten thousand Prussians, which was a sweet and peaceful dream to one who considered swatting the Prussians a privilege.