An hour later the little car stopped in front of the best restaurant in town and the general assisted his niece to get out. From the folding seat behind, two pairs of long legs, one in khaki and one in black rather too short, disentangled themselves and followed. The best restaurants in town in the morning present a dishabille appearance of sweepers, waiters without coats and general dreariness; but the general took the place by storm. “Table for four,” he said. Now that he was doing the thing he was minded to do it magnificently. “Sit down, sergeant. Tommy, run and telephone, as I told you, to the Department of Justice. Got to nail those fellows quick.” As one newly awakened from sleep Sergeant sat down beside Peggy. He presented, up to the neck, the appearance of a Mr. Booth suddenly elongated as to legs and arms. From the neck up he was a young man who had found one hundred and seventy-five dollars and the only girl in the world. The general ordered breakfast for four. Then he glanced up from the menu. “Suit you all right, Gray?” “Splendidly, sir—unless——” He hesitated. “Go ahead,” said the general. “You’ve earned the right to choose what you like.” “I was going to suggest, sir, that I ordinarily have a bran muffin——” The general put down the menu and stared at him. Then he chuckled. “Might have known it would be you!” he observed. “But _c’est la guerre_, Gray. _C’est la guerre!_ We’ll have them.” V Early that afternoon the stable sergeant of the Headquarters Troop coming out of divisional headquarters saw the general approaching in a car much too small for him. Beside him sat an aide, who drove wisely but not too well. On the rumble seat were a girl, and a youth in civilian clothes and a service hat. They were in deep, absorbing conversation. The stable sergeant came stiffly to the salute, and remained at it, the general giving no evidence of seeing him and returning it. Then—the stable sergeant went pale under his tan, for the civilian emerging from the rear of the machine, and strangely but sufficiently clad, was one Sergeant Gray of the Headquarters Troop. As if this had not been enough he watched the same Sergeant Gray assist to alight the young lady of yesterday, and it gave no peace to the stable sergeant’s turbulent soul to behold that young lady giving the general a patronising pat and then a kiss. “Great Scott!” said the stable sergeant feebly. But there was more to come, for Sergeant Gray had spied his enemy and was minded to have official confirmation of a certain fact. Before the stable sergeant’s incredulous eyes he beheld Gray, of the undergarments, gauze, et cetera, advance to the general and salute, and then remark in a very distinct tone: “It was very kind of you, sir, to ask me to breakfast.” The general looked about under his gray eyebrows and perceived a situation. “Not at all,” he replied in an equally distinct voice. “Glad you liked my bran muffins.”