, 1912-02-08

~ SftCil1 tSCOTI. Dle
sumaoiy her father. turned about to
leave, h unpinned the flowers and
offered them impulsively to the aged
hero.
rake these. mon brave" she said
hghuy. You have fought for France
The old la was confused and his
faded eyes tiled For me, mademoi
seller"
"Surelyr
Thanks. ~mademoiselle, thanks! !
saw him when they brought him back
from st Helena. and the Old Gunrd
waded out into the Seine. Those were
days. Thanks. mademoiseIle; an old
soldier salutes you" And the time
bent. withered form grew tall.
/ Fitzgerald cleared his throat, for Just
then something hard had formed there
Why, God bless herr She was the
kind of girl who became the mother
of soldiers.
With her departure his present In
terest here began to wane. He won
dered who she might be and what part
of his native land she adorned when
not gracing European capitals. Well.
this was no time for incoming. He had
arrived from London the day proceed
ing and was leaving for Corfu ON the
morrow, and perforce he must crowd
many things into this short grace of
time.
Today his sightseeing ended IL the
hall of Turenne. before the souvenirs
of the Due de Reichstadt, so called
the king of Rome. Poor, little lead
soldiers. furnished and broken; what
a pathetic history! Abused. ignored.
his childish aspirations trampled on.
the name and glory of his father made
sport of: worried as cruel children
worry a puppy. tantalized, hoping
against hope that this night or the
next his father would dash in at the
head Of the Old Guard and take him
back to Paris A plaything for Meter
mich. Who car gaze upon these little
toys without a thrill of pity2
"Poor little codgerr' Fitzgerald muir
INJURED aloud.
Yes. yesr" agreed a voice in good
English. over his shoulder who will
aver realize the misery of that boyf'
Fitzgerald al once recognized his
jousting opponent of the previous hour
Further, this second appearance re
freshed his memory. He knew now
where he had met the man; he even
recalled his name.
"Are you moi Karl Breitmannf" he
asked with directness.
Eyes. And you are-let me think.
Yes; l have ii You are the American
correspondent. Fitzgerald?"
+ And we met in Macedonia during
the Greek war
Fright. And you and l. with a hand
full of other s%cribblers slept that night
under the same tent"
by George
~ did not recall YOU when we
bumped awhile ago but once ! had
gone by you your face became sinGu'
larly familiar
Funny. isn't itT And Fitzgerald
took hold of the extended hand. THE
sight of these toys always gets into my
heart"
Into mine also. Who can say what
might have been had they not crushed
out the great spirit lying dormant In
his little soul?"
Fitzgerald smiled You are an en-
thusiast like myself
.'yho wouldn't be who has visited
every battlefield. who has spent days
wandering about Corsica. Elba. st
Helenaf But your
my word. | have done the same
things"
They exchanged smiles and drifted
into a long conversation and fought a
dozen battles. compared this general
and that and built idle fancies upon
what the outcome would have been
had Napoleon won at Waterloo. This
might have gone on indefinitely had
not the patient attendant finally dan-
died his keys and yawned over his
watch IL was a o'clock. and they had
been talking for a full hour. They ex-
changed cards. and Fitzgerald, with
his usual disregard of convention. In
yited Rreitmann to dine with him maj
evening at the Meurice-
He selected a table by the window.
dining at 7:3O Breitmann was prompt
In evening clothes there was some
thing distinctive about the man F1z'
gerald. who was himself a wide r
eler and a man Of the world, instantly
saw and was agreeably surprised that
he had asked a gentleman to dine.
Fitzgerald was no cad: he would have
been just as much Interested In Brett
mann had he arrived in a cutaway
sack. But chance acquaintances. as a
rule. are rudlmental experiments.
They sat down Breitmann was
full of surprises. and as the evening
wore on Fitzgerald remembered
having seer Breitmann's name at the
foot of big newspaper stories The
man had Travelled everywhere, spoke
Eve languages. had been a war cor