I didn’t know who “that man” was, nor yet the name of “we,” but I didn’t care. Half an hour later “that man” arrived with English soldiers, or military police, headed by a newly made Corporal and a Scotch veteran who radiated intelligence with dignity and self-respect. After walking, captive, a few minutes, I asked, “Where are we going?” “To the Base Court.” I thought I was a sucker, playing the Butt-in-ski’s game. Throwing my back against the wall, I answered,—“If you want to take me to the Base Court, you will have to carry me.” A long silence followed, and a crowd collected. The English corporal started to bluster. I demanded,—“What business have you to interfere with me?” “We have orders to make you show your papers.” “Who gave you those orders?” The Corporal did not answer. The Scotchman turned to him and said,—“Who is that damned fool that is always getting us into trouble?” The Corporal responded,—“I don’t know,—he gave me a card. Here it is.” I looked over the Corporal’s shoulder and read, Lieutenant P——n. The Scotchman asked,—“Don’t you have to show your papers?” “Yes, to those who have the right to see them.” “Who are they?” “The gendarmes, the commissaire, and the proper officials.” Then, that smooth Scotchman slipped one over on me,—“Look here, soldier, don’t be foolish. Think of yourself and look at us—we would look like hell getting into a row with a French soldier, with this crowd about, wouldn’t we? If you don’t want to go to the English court, let’s go to the French commissaire and get the damned thing over with.” I replied, “You are engaged in a lovely business, aren’t you? You permit German officers, who are fighting in the German army against Great Britain, to retain their titles in the English House of Lords; and you come over to France and arrest your ally, the French common soldier.” “We had to mind orders, ma lad, ’E don’t doubt ye’re a’ richt.” The Corporal put in, “I’m not so sure about that.” I replied, “I bet you’re making a trip for nothing.” “What will you bet?” “Oh, I don’t know—a glass of beer.” “Good, that’s a go,” said the Corporal. “Ah’ll help ye drink it,” said the Scot. The Commissaire examined my papers closely. Turning to the Corporal, he asked, “What have you brought this man here for?” The Corporal replied, “He speaks very good English and not very good French.” The Commissaire observed, “I don’t know about his English, but he speaks better French than you do.” “We don’t know who he is.” The Commissaire responded, “This man is a soldier of France, an American citizen, a volunteer in the Foreign Legion. His papers show that, and his identification badge confirms it. The papers also state he was wounded in the forehead. Look at that scar! The papers show he is returning to his regiment. Here is his railroad ticket. What do you want with him? What charge do you enter against him?”