"We get out here," I said, hoarsely, choking with rage.
"But!" exclaimed the old lady, "it's the loneliest part of the road."
"However that may be," I replied with fine firmness, "I must
nevertheless alight here. I have a great many things to do before I
return to camp and lonely roads are well suited to my purposes. My
homicidal leanings are completely over-powering me."
"Watch him closely," said the old lady to my companion, as the car
came to a stop.
"He will have to," I replied grimly, as I prepared to alight.
"Perhaps Mr. Oswald will mix us a cocktail some day," said one of the
sisters, leaning over the side of the car. "I have heard that he
supported many bars at one time, but I never knew he really owned
one."
"What," I heard the old lady exclaiming as the car pulled away, "he
really isn't a bartender at all--well, fancy that!"
There were a couple of pairs of rather dusty liberty blues in camp
that night.
_April 8th._ Yesterday mother paid a visit to camp and insisted upon
me breaking out my hammock in order for her to see if I had covers
enough.
"I can never permit you to sleep in that, my dear," she said after
pounding and prodding it for a few numbers; "never--and I am sure the
Commander will agree with me after I have explained to him how
delicate you have always been.
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