hurried to the door. "Going to get you a suitcase," he explained.
"Back in five minutes."

The stranger made no answer. Probably he did not hear him. Not a
hundred feet from our windows three Greek steamers were huddled
together, and the eyes of the American were fixed on them. The one
for which John had gone to buy him a new ticket lay nearest. She
was to sail in two hours. Impatiently, in short quick steps, the
stranger paced the length of the room, but when he turned and so
could see the harbor, he walked slowly, devouring it with his
eyes. For some time, in silence, he repeated this manoeuvre; and
then the complaints of the typewriter disturbed him. He halted and
observed my struggles. Under his scornful eye, in my embarrassment
I frequently hit the right letter. "You a newspaper man, too?" he
asked. I boasted I was, but begged not to be judged by my
typewriting.

"I got some great stories to write when I get back to God's
country," he announced. "I was a reporter for two years in Kansas
City before the war, and now I'm going back to lecture and write.
I got enough material to keep me at work for five years. All kinds
of stuff--specials, fiction stories, personal experiences, maybe a
novel."

I regarded him with envy. For the correspondents in the greatest
of all wars the pickings had been meagre. "You are to be
congratulated," I said. He brushed aside my congratulations. "For
what?" he demanded. "I didn't go after the stories; they came to
me. The things I saw I had to see. Couldn't get away from them.
I've been with the British, serving in the R.A.M.C. Been hospital