me? Take a good look now."

Popover gives him a glance and shakes his head. "Maybe I serve you at
the club, Sir," says he.

"Club be blowed!" says Skid. "The last time I saw you you were serving
a machine gun, six miles east of Mustapha. Isn't that so?"

"Oh, Mustapha!" says Popover, his eyes lightin' up a little. "On the
hill just beyond where the bridge was blown up? You came at the
night's end. Oh, yes!"

"I knew it!" exclaims Skid. "I'd have bet a thousand--same curly hair,
same shoulders, same eyes. Ellins, here's that lone hero I was telling
you about. Here!"

"But--hut that's only Mike," says Mr. Robert, gazin' from one to the
other. "Used to be a waiter at the club, you know."

"I don't care what he used to be," says Skid, "or what he is now, I
want to shake hands with him."

Popover he pinks up and acts foolish about swappin' grips; but Skid
insists.

"So you beat 'em out in the end, did you?" Skid goes on. "Just
naturally put it all over that whole bunch of Turks, didn't you? But
how did it happen?"

"I don't know," says Popover, fingerin' his hat nervous. "I am very