a publisher to write my memoirs," he added, with a wretched attempt at jauntiness.
"To America? Gene, let me come with you. Gene darling, let me. I'll go anywhere. I don't mind roughing it. You mustn't go to a place like that without someone to take care of you. T'li work for the League, I'll do anything."
"Say, Lootenant," put in the embarrassed M.P., "I didn't know there was a skirt in this business. If you'll excuse me, I'll step outside with the janitor."
The Colonel at that moment had—no eyes or ears—or arms—for anyone but Nyla. Romsteck beckoned, and the sergeant followed him to the door.
"You'll be O.K. in here, Lootenant. Take your time. I'll wait for you at the top of the stairs."
"Gene, you'll write to me?"
"Of course I will, darling."
"Do you have to go? Is the American republic in trouble too? Fix it up and come back
