"Then you are not, in fact, a Serb?" I said.

"Nope," said Serge, nodding his head frantically (the Oriental method
of negation).

"Do you want to go home?" I asked cunningly.

"Sure, boss," replied he. "Want to go Chicago."

Boris uttered one blasting guttural and Serge receded to the horizon
with great rapidity. "You understand, _mon ami_," explained Boris; "he
is really a Bulgar, but the villainous Serb propagandists have taught
him the Serbian language and that he is Serb. It is his duty really to
fight or work for Bulgaria, just as it was ours to liberate him and
his other Bulgar brothers in Serbia from the yoke of the Serbs. It is
understood, my friend?"

"Oh, absolutely," I replied.

He withdrew, exchanging a glance of hatred with Aristides
Papazaphiropoulos, who approached saluting with Hellenic fervour.

"You wish me, Sare?" he asked.

"I did," I answered, and outlined to him what had passed. "Is it true
that propaganda is, or are, used to that extent?"

"It is true," he answered sadly. "The Serb has much propagandism, the
Bulgar also. But in this case both are liars, since the population of