choose, as he can tell you of adventures in almost any land, all
with a captivating accent and in the vocabulary of a man who has
lived long among men and nature. Nor are Fritz' opinions those
gleaned from other men or the printed page. So we fell to fanning
ourselves this January afternoon on the screened and shaded
veranda above the Chagres, and "Old Fritz," lighting his pipe,
raised his slippered feet to the screen railing and, tossing away
the charred remnant of a match, began:--

"Vidout var dere iss no brogress. Ven all der vorld iss at peace,
all der vorld goes to shleep."

Police headquarters looked all but deserted on Friday morning.
There had been "something doing" in Zone criminal annals the night
before, and not only "the Captain" but both "the Chief" and the
Inspector were "somewhere out along the line." I sat down in the
arm-chair against the wall. A half-hour, perhaps, had I read when
"Eddie"--I am not entitled, perhaps, to such familiarity, but the
solemn title of "chief clerk" is far too stiff and formal for that
soul of good-heartedness striving in vain to hide behind a bluff
exterior--"Eddie," I say, blew a last cloud of smoke from his
lungs to the ceiling, tossed aside the butt of his cigarette, and
motioned to me to take the chair beside his desk.

"It's all off!" said a voice within me. For the expression on
"Eddie's" face was that of a man with an unpleasant duty to
perform, and his opening words were in exactly that tone of voice
in which a man begins, "I am sorry, but--" Had I not often used it
myself?