Paris. Yanks, Yanks, Yanks. And 'thanks' rimes. I said so to one of 'em. 'No,' said he, 'Tanks' is the proper rime--British Tanks!' Neat and modest. Wrote Connie. 21st inst.: Manitou and I are off. Most interesting quest I ever engaged in. Wrote to my wife. Delle. Manitou and I both very fit. Machine in waiting. Took the air for a look about. Manitou left me a mile up. Evidently likes the Alps. Soared over Mount Terrible whither I dared not venture--yet! Saw no Huns. Back by sundown. Manitou dropped in to dinner--like a thunderbolt from the zenith. Astonishment of Blue Devils on guard. Much curiosity. Manitou a hero. All see in him an omen of American victory. Wrote Connie. 30th inst.: Shall try 'it' very soon now. If it's true--God help the Swiss! If not--profound apologies I suppose. Anyway its got to be cleared up. Manitou enamoured of mountains. Poor devil, it's in his blood I suppose. Takes the air, now, quite independent of me, but I fancy he gets uneasy if I delay, for he comes and circles over the hangar until my machine takes the air. And if it doesn't he comes down to find out why, mad and yelping at me like an irritated goblin. I saw an Alpine butterfly to-day--one of those Parnassians all white with wings veined a greenish black. Couldn't catch him. Wrote to Connie. Bed. 31st inst.: In an hour. All ready. It's hard to believe that the Hun has so terrorised the Swiss Government as to force it into such an outrageous concession. Nous verrons. A perfect day. Everything arranged. Calm and confident. Think much of Constance but no nerves. Early this morning Manitou, who had been persistently hulking at my heels and squealing invitations to take wing with him, became impatient and went up. I saw him in time and whistled him down; and I told the old chap very plainly that he could come up with me when I was ready or not at all. He understood and sat on the table sulking, and cocking his silver head at me while I talked to him. That's one thing about Manitou. Except for a wild Canada goose I never before saw a bird who seemed to have the slightest trace of brain. I know, of course, it's not affection that causes him to trail me, answer his whistle, and obey when he doesn't wish to obey. It's training and habit. But I like to pretend that the old chap is a little fond of me. I'm of in a few minutes. Manitou is aboard. Glorious visibility. Now for Fritz and his occult designs--if there are any. A little note to Connie--I scarcely know why. Not a nerve. Most happy. Noticed a small butterfly quite unfamiliar to me. No time now to investigate. Engines! Manitou yelling with excitement. Symptoms of taking wing, but whistle checks insubordination.... All ready. Wish Connie were here. McKay closed the little book, strapped and buckled the cover. "Exit Sir W. Blint," he said, not flippantly. "I think I should like to have known that man."