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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Gordon Craig Soldier of Fortune"

Did you see them Filipino trenches after we took 'em?"
I shook my head.
"No; I was down and out long before then."
"Hell of a sight, believe me--jammed full o' little brown men, deader
than door nails. They died a fighting, all right, an' they sure gave
us a belly full that day. Lost sixteen out o' my company."
Our eyes lingered an instant on each other's faces; then I turned away,
and walked to the door. She was waiting motionless, her back to the
window, and, when I spoke, followed me in without a word. I led the
way to the secluded table behind the screen, seated her, and took the
chair opposite. Without questioning her wishes I ordered for both, the
girl sitting in silence, her face bent low over the menu card, a red
flush on either cheek. Still obsessed with vague suspicion of her
character I could not forbear a suggestion.
"What will you have to drink?" I asked, as the waiter turned aside. "I
'd rather like a cocktail to drive the wet out of my system. Shall I
make it two?"
She glanced up quickly from under shading lashes, her eyes, big and
brown, meeting my own.
"I prefer coffee; that will be quite sufficient."
I ran my hand through my hair.
"Don't you ever drink anything stronger?" I asked, almost tempted to
apologize.


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