at home would know they were still alive, others wanted us to keep
their names out of the papers, hoping the police would think them
dead; another, convinced it was of pressing news value, desired us
to advertise the fact that he had invented a poisonous gas for use
in the trenches. With difficulty we prevented him from casting it
adrift in our room. Or, he had for sale a second-hand motorcycle,
or he would accept a position as barkeeper, or for five francs
would sell a state secret that, once made public, in a month would
end the war. It seemed cheap at the price.

Each of us had his "scouts" to bring him the bazaar rumor, the
Turkish bath rumor, the café rumor. Some of our scouts journeyed
as far afield as Monastir and Doiran, returning to drip snow on
the floor, and to tell us tales, one-half of which we refused to
believe, and the other half the censor refused to pass. With each
other's visitors it was etiquette not to interfere. It would have
been like tapping a private wire. When we found John sketching a
giant stranger in a cap and coat of wolf skin we did not seek to
know if he were an Albanian brigand, or a Servian prince
_incognito_, and when a dark Levantine sat close to the Kid,
whispering, and the Kid banged on his typewriter, we did not
listen.

So, when I came in one afternoon and found a strange American
youth writing at John's table, and no one introduced us, I took it
for granted he had sold the Artist an "exclusive" story, and asked
no questions. But I could not help hearing what they said. Even
though I tried to drown their voices by beating on the Kid's
typewriter. I was taking my third lesson, and I had printed, "I
Amm 5w writjng This, 5wjth my own lilly w?ite handS," when I heard