You see, I am hard of hearing and have a bad heart. I am not at all yellow. I am ready to fight at any time, and have always been ready, but it occurred to me that as I could not fight on account of my hearing and bad heart, I ought not put the officials to the trouble of examining me. You see, it would take a lot of time to examine me, so I thought the best plan was just to save them that trouble, and as I was going west anyway, etc. Operatives then locked the cowboy up for the night, and the next morning took him before the Department of Justice. He was very repentant, and while adhering to the same story, was anxious that something should be done to keep him out of the Army. This matter was explained quietly to the Department man who met him, and upon being advised by the cowboy that he was hard of hearing, had a bad heart, etc., the latter said: “I feel awfully sorry for you, but you see, you are delinquent. You have laid yourself liable to the law and a penitentiary offense. Now, we usually are considerate and give a man a chance of going to war, but you tell me you are hard of hearing and have a bad heart, and of course, under those circumstances, we cannot send you to the Army. That is too bad, and I suppose the decision of the court will be that it is the penitentiary for you.” A very pale, excited listener immediately said: “Mister, now I think you misunderstand me. A man who goes through what I went through yesterday, being arrested and being locked up with a lot of bedbugs all night, has a fairly good heart. In fact, I believe I have entirely recovered my hearing, and am all over the heart trouble. If you will only let me go to the Army, I will waive all examination.” He went. In one day A. P. L. received three different complaints that a spy was working in the north-eastern part of the city. He was supposed to be German through and through, though he had never said anything pro-German. He was generally considered to be a wise fellow who worked and did not talk. Every Saturday night he met a bunch of spies in his basement, one tall and one short, both dangerous looking. They always carried a secret basket of mysterious contents. Neighbors were very much aroused. Insisted that the Department do something, quick. A. P. L. placed operatives on a Saturday night, the night on which these mysterious meetings all occurred, and watched the long and short men come with their deadly baskets. Shortly after, a light appeared in the basement. Curtains were at the windows and the windows were up, so the operatives crawled up closely and quietly and listened to the conversation, which was about as follows, in mixed German: “I played the ace.” “No, you didn’t, you led with a king!” “You don’t know anything about playing pinochle.” And so forth. S’nuf, Mawruss. The mysterious basket contained beer bottles! CHAPTER XIII THE STORY OF MINNEAPOLIS