"it's nothing to the hard luck you'll strike when you can't tell
why you left the army." Hamlin turned with an exclamation, but
Billy held up his hand. "Now wait," he begged, "we haven't time to
get mussy. At six o'clock your leave is up, and the troop train
starts back to camp, and----"

Mr. Hamlin interrupted sharply. "And the _Adriaticus_ starts at
five."

Billy did not heed him. "You've got two hours to change your
mind," he said. "That's better than being sorry you didn't the
rest of your life."

Mr. Hamlin threw back his head and laughed. It was a most
unpleasant laugh. "You're a fine body of men," he jeered. "America
must be proud of you!"

"If we _weren't_ Americans," explained Billy patiently, "we
wouldn't give a damn whether you deserted or not. You're drowning
and you don't know it, and we're throwing you a rope. Try to see
it that way. We'll cut out the fact that you took an oath, and
that you're breaking it. That's up to you. We'll get down to
results. When you reach home, if you can't tell why you left the
army, the folks will darned soon guess. And that will queer
everything you've done. When you come to sell your stuff, it will
queer you with the editors, queer you with the publishers. If they
know you broke your word to the British army, how can they know
you're keeping faith with them? How can they believe anything you
tell them? Every 'story' you write, every statement of yours will
make a noise like a fake. You won't come into court with clean