In all of my conversation, I recalled afterward, I never addressed the King as "Your Majesty," but used the military "sir." As I was a British officer and he was the head of the army, he probably appreciated this manner of address more than if I had used the usual "Your Majesty." Perhaps he attributed it to the fact that I was an American. At any rate, he didn't evince any displeasure at my departure from what I understand is the usual form of address. Before I left he asked me what my plans for the future were. "Why, sir, I hope to rejoin my squadron at the earliest possible moment!" I replied. "No, Leftenant," he rejoined, "that is out of the question. We can't risk losing you for good by sending you back to a part of the front opposed by Germany, because if you were unfortunate enough to be captured again they would undoubtedly shoot you." "Well, if I can't serve in France, sir," I suggested, "wouldn't it be feasible for me to fly in Italy or Salonica?" "No," he replied; "that would be almost as bad. The only thing that I can suggest for you to do is either to take up instruction--a very valuable form of service--or perhaps it might be safe enough for you to serve in Egypt; but, just at present, Leftenant, I think you have done enough, anyway." Then he rose and shook hands with me and wished me the best of luck, and we both said, "Good-by." In the adjoining room I met Earl Cromer again, and as he accompanied me to the door he seemed to be surprised at the length of my visit. "His Majesty must have been very much interested in your story," he said. As I left the palace a policeman and a sentry outside came smartly to attention. Perhaps they figured I had been made a general. As I was riding back to the hotel in a taxi I reflected on the remarkable course of events which in the short space of nine months had taken me through so much and ended up, like the finish of a book, with my being received by his Majesty the King! When I first joined the Royal Flying Corps I never expected to see the inside of Buckingham Palace, much less to be received by the King. XX HOME AGAIN! That same day, in the evening, I was tendered a banquet at the Hotel Savoy by a fellow-officer who had bet three other friends of mine that I would be home by Christmas. This wager had been made at the time he heard that I was a prisoner of war, and the dinner was the stake. The first intimation he had of my safe return from Germany and the fact that he had won his bet was a telegram I sent him reading as follows: _Lieutenant Louis Grant_: War-bread bad, so I came home. PAT. He said he would not part with that message for a thousand dollars.