All the same, it’s more or less funny to see how the natives of this country have made game of us behind our backs ever since the 1st of December. What are we waiting for--to make them sweat ten times the blood of those French sailors? To hell with “outside influences”! What the devil do we care that this Power or that doesn’t want to hurt their darling Tino! But French blood is French business, and we could say to all the rest, “Hands off! Let _me_ settle this score!” Besides, with lubbers who admire nothing but the big stick, as you see from the way they go down on their knees with their mouths open before the Boches, it’s absurd to be considerate. But we keep on talking rot about memories of ancient days and all these Helleno-Boches, who are well aware of our stupidity, harp on that string and take advantage of us. Are we really such born fools as to be taken in by such humbug? Fourgues explained it all to me in very few words, as he can: “Listen to this, my boy. There are adventurers, crooks who intend to marry the lady with the money-bags. So they recite poetry, mouth, and strike romantic poses. The good woman lets herself be taken in and goes before the registrar with her money-bags behind. And what does she get? He, the tender heart, beats her, makes off with the money, and then laughs at her into the bargain. Well, it’s the same thing with the Greek government and the Allies. They harp on their great ancestors, Themistocles and Canaris, and when we come with assurances of friendship we get a hundred bluejackets murdered. If we gave them tit for tat, things might be better. But we say ‘Let’s talk it over!’ So everybody sits down in a circle on the corpses and it’s French blood that makes the council table! If instead of this we said to them, ‘Constantine or bread!’ and sealed their ports with ships which are doing nothing, in a week we should be rid of those lads who fire in our backs, cut our bridges, and get their instructions from Potsdam every morning. But what do you expect, my boy? The Frenchman lets himself be killed and then says, ‘Pardon me!’ At least, that’s what it looks like.” Well, old man, I don’t know just who Themistocles and Canaris were--humbugs, no doubt, but the rest is as plain as day. What lies can they be telling about it in France? Even here, only two days from the Piræus, we, of the _Pamir_, who were there, can’t get people to listen to us. What must it be at home? And boredom! The _Pamir_ is waiting for orders. It’s a habit now! Fourgues is afraid they will make us take coal, seeing that that commodity is now dearer than meat. But I don’t care a whoop nor a damn nor a double-damn! And if you aren’t like me, your stripes have indeed changed you. Cheery-oh! NORWAY, _February 18, 1917_. GODFATHER!