The depraved creature stirred uneasily. "I ain't got 'em," he said. "Good," I cried heartily. "We understand each other perfectly. In the future you will try to wash your neck and cease from having the habits of a camel. No compromise is necessary. I know you will keep your word." "Go away quickly," he gasped, searching around for a stone to hurl at me, and discarding several because of their small size. "Go away to somewhere else. I'm telling you now, go away or else a special detail will find your lifeless body here in the bushes some time to-morrow." "I've already been thoroughly killed several times to-day," I said, putting a tree between us, "but don't forget about the camel, and for heaven's sake do try to keep your neck--" A stone hit the tree with a resounding crack, and I increased the distance. "Damn the torpedoes!" I shouted back as I disappeared into the pleasant security of the sun-warmed woods. _May 11th._ "What navy do you belong to?" asked an Ensign, stopping me to-day, "the Chinese?" "Why do you ask, sir?" I replied, saluting gracefully. "Of course I don't belong to the Chinese Navy." "What's your rating?" he snapped. "Show girl first class attached to the good ship Biff! Bang! sir," came my prompt retort. "Well, put a watch mark on your arm, sailor, and put it there pronto, or you'll be needing an understudy to pinch hit for you." As a matter of fact I have never put my watch mark on, for the simple reason that I have been rather expecting a rating at any moment, but it seems as if my expectations were doomed to disappointment. Nothing matters much, anyway, now, however, for I have been selected from among all the men in the station to play the part of a Show Girl in the coming magnificent Pelham production, "Biff! Bang!" At last I have found the occupation to which by training and inclination I am naturally adapted. The Grand Moguls that are running this show came around the barracks the other day looking for material, and when they gazed upon me I felt sure that their search had not been in vain. "Why don't you write a 'nut' part for him?" asked one of them of the playwright as they surveyed me critically as if I was some rare specimen of bug life. "That would never do," he answered. "Real 'nuts' can never play the part on the stage. You've got to have a man of intelligence." "Look here," I broke in. "You've got to stop talking about me before my face as if I wasn't really present. Nuts I may be, but I can still understand English, even when badly spoken, and resent it. Lay off that stuff or I'll be constrained to introduce you to a new brand of 'Biff! Bang!'" Saying this, I struck an heroic attitude, but it seemed to produce no startling change in their calm, deliberate examination of me.