"You don't really mean that, Dunny," I said firmly, continuing my
dinner. It was a good dinner; we had consulted over each item from
cocktails to liqueurs, and we are both distinctly fussy about food.

"I do mean it!" insisted my guardian. Dunny has the biggest heart in the
world, with a cayenne layer over it, and this layer is always thickest
when I am bound for distant parts. "I mean every word of it, I tell
you, Dev." Dev, like Dunny, is a misnomer; my name is Devereux--Devereux
Bayne. "Don't you risk your bones enough with the confounded games you
play? What's the use of hunting shells and shrapnel like a hero in a
movie reel? We're not in this war yet, though we soon will be, praise
the Lord! And till we are, I believe in neutrality--upon my soul I do."

"Here's news, then!" I exclaimed. "I never heard of it before. Well,
your new life begins too late, Dunny. You brought me up the other way.
The modern system, you know, makes the parent or guardian responsible
for the child. So thank yourself for my unneutral nature and for the war
medals I'm going to win!"

Muttering something about impertinence, he veered to another tack.

"If you must do it," he croaked, "why sail for Naples instead of for
Bordeaux? The Mediterranean is full of those pirate fellows. You
read the papers--the headlines anyway; you know it as well as I. It's
suicide, no less! Those Huns sank the _San Pietro_ last week. I say,
young man, are you listening? Do you hear what I'm telling you?"

It was true that my gaze had wandered near the close of his harangue.
I like to look at my guardian; the fine old chap, with his height and
straightness, his bright blue eyes and proud silver head, is a sight for