our Allies." Was this sarcasm or would-be humor? It had an unpleasant
ring.

"Glad you like it," I responded, with a cold stare, "but I didn't pick
it."

"Well, if you weren't born in the States, are you an American citizen?"
he imperturbably pursued.

"If you'll consult my passport, you'll see that I am."

"Did either your father or your mother have any German blood?"

I could hear a slight rustle back of me among the passengers, none of
whom, it was plain, had been subjected to such cross-questioning. I was
growing restive, but I couldn't tell him it was not his business; of
course it was.

"No; they didn't," I briefly replied.

"About your destination now." He was making notes of all my answers.
"You are going to Italy, and then--"

"To France."

"Roundabout trip, rather. The Bordeaux route is safer just now and
quicker, too. Why not have gone that way? And how long are you planning
to stop over on this side?"

"It depends upon circumstances." What on earth ailed the fellow? He was