in the State Cavalry. You ought to have seen how sore all those Iowa
Germans were on me for going," he laughed. "Had a hell of row with a guy
named Schultz."

Limping slightly, an enormous, grizzled man approached us and sat down
by the side of the ex-machinist. Possibly a yellow-gray suit, cut in the
bathrobe American style, made him look larger than he was, and though
heavily built and stout, there was something about him which suggested
ill health. One might have thought him a prosperous American business
man on his way to Baden-Baden. He had a big nose, big mouth, a hard eye,
and big, freckled hands which he nervously opened and closed.

"See that feller over there?" He pointed to a spectacled individual who
seemed lost in melancholy speculation at the rail--"Says he's a Belgian
lieutenant. Been over here trying to get cloth. Says he can't get it,
the firms over here haven't got the colors. Just think of it, there
isn't a pound of Bernheim's blue in the whole country!"

"I thought we were beginning to make dyes of our own," said the Iowan.

"Oh, yes, but we haven't got the hang of it yet. The product is pretty
poor. Most of the people who need dyes are afraid to use the American
colors, but they've got to take what they can get. Friend of mine, Lon
Seeger, of Seeger, Seeger & Hall, the carpet people in Hackensack, had
twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of mats spoiled on him last week by
using home dyes."

The Belgian lieutenant, still standing by the rail, was talking with
another passenger, and some fragments of the conversation drifted to our
ears. I caught the words--"My sister--quite unexpected--barely