“I’m lonely,” stated the sike. “All my lovely companions are faded and gone. Captive to the fair sex. “Oh, bury me on the lone pray-_ree_! Where the wild ki-yotes can’t pester me.” “Goodness gracious! What’s that?” queried Miss McSears. “I believe it’s some kind of a professor,” explained Miss Vail, as the flit obligingly turned an interior light upon the sike. Miss McSears viewed the exhibit with critical approval. “It looks good to me,” she said. “Couldn’t we get somebody to take care of it for the evening and make this a real party? Any of your crowd on, Vail?” “Eleven twenty-five,” said the corps-girl, examining a wrist-watch. “Dolly Barrett’ll just be coming off duty. She’d fit in.” “Great!” assented Miss McSears, and the two girls retired to telephone. “Did you get her?” chorused the crew of the tank, when they returned. “Of course,” said Miss Vail. “We told her to meet us at eleven-fifty on the south side of Columbus Circle where Broadway comes in.” “That’s a nice, retired spot for a tryst,” said Mr. Watts sardonically. “Did you tell her how we were coming?” “No. I just said we’d pick her up in a car.” “She’ll be surprised.” “Surprise will do her good. She’s been overworked lately and needs livening up.” Surprise was obviously the trysted one’s portion when, with the sound of earthquake and avalanche, battle, murder, and sudden death, the “cab” arrived. Nor was the initial surprise the only one. A perfect stranger with a long, lean, pleasant face stepped out and regarded her with appreciative and twinkling eyes. In the background she dimly apprehended Miss Vail and Miss McSears. On his part the sike contemplated a small, trim young person with very black hair, very gray eyes under black brows and lashes and a mouth that was an enticement to disorderly conduct. His bedazzled regard failed to note certain features of her costume. His once professorial spirit was in a turmoil, a reckless, desperate glow. “Good evening,” he said rapidly. “We’ve come to take you riding. Let me help you in. My name is Follansbee James. I’ve joined the tanks. Treat ’em rough.” Smack! The disorderly conduct was committed. “Attention!” snapped the enraged victim of the caress. The sike fell into a rigor, a paralysis, intended for a salute. His horrified eyes were riveted on the newcomer’s nearest shoulder. A silver bar shone there. “Lord help me! I’ve kissed my superior officer,” groaned the sike, and collapsed into the waiting arms of the gob. The others immediately supplied a chorus of explanation and apology, greatly enjoyed and appreciated by the gathering crowd. “Let’s get out of here,” said Lieutenant Dolly Barrett, bewilderedly rubbing the corner of her chin (for the sike had been nervous and his marksmanship below par). “Go into the Park, where it’s quiet.”