The voyage was not unpleasant, and it was interesting, at least, to watch the little destroyers plunging and rolling through the great waves until one night they disappeared and left the three transports alone.... There were six days and a half of plowing westward through the Atlantic, days when one wore constantly his life-jacket and rather expected to hear at any moment the detonation of the defensive guns or the explosion of a torpedo against the vessel’s sides.... But at last land came into view—only to be obscured by fog that compelled the _Leviathan_ to crawl along, feeling her way with the lead.... And then, as suddenly as it had come, the fog vanished and they were in the harbor, with the Goddess visible ahead and the sky-line of the metropolis over to the right.... Nobody left the deck. It was an experience and every man wanted to feel every second of it, witness every manifestation of it.... Vessels cheered them and they cheered in return.... It was America—home. They had been to the war and had returned, some of them battered, broken, but nevertheless returned. It was exhilarating, wonderful. An early morning ferry-boat, crowded with civilians, ran under their bows, and some competent individual led the cheering. _Crash, crash, crash_, sounded the enthusiastic welcome of those who had remained behind, and every man on the transport knew that those cheers were for _him_.... The great vessel swung about and docked by the aid of snorting, grunting tugs, and after more delays and formalities they set foot on shore.... Kendall went directly to the Pennsylvania station to book a lower berth for Washington. A week later he was in Detroit on furlough—in his old home, amid familiar surroundings ... under his own roof with his father and mother. It was very much the same. The war touched the life of the city but lightly. It was all as he remembered it, all as he had expected it to be ... and Paris and the distant war seemed to be matters that had occurred in a dream.... On Sunday he went to church with his mother and father and received the homage and congratulations of the vestibule.... That afternoon he went to his room to write—to write the promised letter to Andree. It was not easy ... for the decision had not yet been made. He wrote and destroyed and wrote again. He promised to return; he assured her of his love ... but when he read he was not satisfied.... He was in Detroit, in another world, and Andree did not belong to that world. He was surprised to find how well this world satisfied him and how unreal that other world he had known and loved had become.... This was _his_ world, these were the things _he_ was meant to do and the thoughts _he_ was meant to think. This was America, and he was an American!... He tried to think of Paris, to get back again into the spirit of Paris, but could not do so.... It had become unreal, distant, not appealing....