In the café on Sunday night Mr. Kiley met an American and told him his troubles. The American had a car of his own in Le Havre and plenty of gasoline. He would be glad to give Mr. Kiley enough to start him on his way. “But I can’t go,” said Mr. Kiley, “till I’ve fixed it with the police. I’ll have to look for them.” He didn’t have far to look. No. 2 was in the lobby. “Yes,” said No. 2, “you can leave town if you leave quick. There must be no more foolishness. The only thing that saves you from arrest is your uniform.” Mr. Kiley left town and left quick, and, aside from his four blow-outs, had an uneventful trip to Paris. But what if I had taken that assignment--I with no uniform except one willed me by the Chicago Cubs? O Boy! _Saturday, August 25. Paris._ On advice of counsel I went to Colonel Anonymous of the American General Staff and besought him to fix it so that I might get to one of our camps without further stalling. Colonel Anonymous said it was all right with him and telephoned to Major Noname, who seemed to have authority in affaires journalistic. Major Noname, fortunately, is a baseball fan. I told him what I did know, and lots that I didn’t know about our national pastime, and the reward was an American press pass to the infantry camp, S. in F. I am going in a horseless carriage with Joe and Howard, fellow conspirators in the so-called journalistic game, and the start is to be made early Monday morning. Joe is going to drive his own car, and I hope he knows how. _Dimanche, 26 Août. Paris._ Yesterday was Saturday, and everybody had had a hot bath and felt like doing something. Three of us decided to take in the highly recommended show at Les Ambassadeurs. A member of the Theatrical Geographic Society met us in the foyer and showed us a map of the playhouse. From it we were supposed to pick our seats. We chose three that, on paper, were in the sixth row in the center aisle. Our usher, female, led us to three which were in the tenth row, off to one side. Our usher stuck round as if she expected something. I was the party with the seat checks, and she got nothing. I was ignorant of the rules of the game. But not for long. Pretty soon in came three of the World’s Greatest Fighters, alias Canadian soldiers, and sat down behind us. Their usher was more persistent than mine. “What do you want?” demanded one who seemed to be the financial leader. “I already gave you a franc.” “Un franc pour trois?” said the lady in horror. “Yes, and that’s enough,” said the Canuck. “Aller!” he added in perfect Canadian. “Je ne comprend pas,” said the lady. “Go to the devil then!” said the Canadian in perfect Portuguese. The lady went somewhere, but whether to the proper destination I do not know. “I wonder how much they charge to get out,” wondered the Canadian.