"What is it?" she asked, trying to assume an air of hauteur but without
being able wholly to mask her curiosity.

"You are an American, aren't you?" he asked abruptly.

"Of course."

"A good American?"

"I hope so." She decided now that he must be one of the members of some
Red Cross fund "drive," or perhaps an overenthusiastic salesman for
government bonds. "But I don't quite understand what it is that
you wish."

"I can't explain," said her questioner, "but if you really are a good
American and you'd like to do your country a great service--an important
service--go at once to the address on this card."

She took the slip of white pasteboard handed her. On it was written in
pencil "Room 708." The building was a skyscraper down-town.

"What is it?" she asked half indignantly, "a new scheme to sell bonds?"

"No, no, Miss Strong," he cried, "it is nothing like that. It is a great
opportunity to do an important service for America."

"How did you know my name?"

"I heard you give it to the clerk just now."