Suddenly she drew the little car up beside the road. “Have you anything you want particularly to do to-day?” she asked. “I was just going to play round.” “Would you like to do a real service? A national service?” “I seem to be doing it most of the time,” he observed with some bitterness. “You said yesterday you were going to have your picture taken.” Good heavens, was this marvel, this creature from another world, going to ask for his photograph? “I would, but this eye——” “See here,” she said briskly. “I want you to get your picture taken. I want it for a special reason. And I want you to go”—she felt in her pocket and pulled out a card—“I want you to go to this man.” “I see,” he said, and took the card. “Friend of yours?” “Certainly not!” “Does he take good photographs?” “I don’t know. You might read the card.” He read it carefully. It merely stated that J. M. Booth of a certain number on Twenty-Second Street made excellent photographs very cheap, filled rush orders for soldiers, and gave them a special discount. He even turned it over, but the other side was blank. “I don’t get it, I guess,” he said at last. “What’s the answer?” “The more I see of army men the less imagination I find,” was her surprising reply. “I took that card last night to the—to an officer I know; and he was just like you. I hope you put more intelligence into your fighting than you do into other things. How many soldiers do you suppose have gone to that man?” “Well, I’ll be one, anyhow.” He rose gallantly to the occasion. “A good many hundred, probably. As each division comes in and gets leave they all run to get their pictures taken, don’t they? And they want them by a certain time? Why? Because they’re going to sail, of course.” “There’s no argument on my part.” “But suppose that man’s name isn’t Booth? Suppose I told you he’d once been the court photographer at Vienna?” Sergeant Gray whistled. “Are you telling me that?” “I am. My dressmaker is in the same building. She told me. He showed her a lot of photographs of the royal family.” Every boy has longed at some period of his life to be a detective. Sergeant Gray suddenly felt the fine frenzy of the sleuth. But there was disappointment too. “So that’s why you picked me up last night?” “Not at all. But it’s why I came for you this morning.” “Would you mind explaining that?” “Not at all. I picked you up because I carry all the boys I can to the street car. But after we had talked I felt you would understand. Some of them wouldn’t.” Sergeant Gray at once put on the expression of one who understood perfectly. But happening to glance down, the better to reflect, he saw that the slicker had slid back an inch or so, revealing that amount of a knee that was not covered with khaki. He blushed furiously, but the girl’s eyes were on the road ahead.