We don't even care who wins. But
a couple of months ago we got word up there that the United States
had finally got into it with everybody under the sun, and that
the Germans were bound to win if we didn't get a couple of million
men across in pretty short order. I am thirty years old, Captain,
strong and healthy, and I'm a good American. That's why I want to
get home. I've told you the truth about being robbed. I don't mind
losing the money,--only a couple of thousand pesos, you know,--but
if you chuck me off at the next port of call, Captain Trigger, I'll
curse you to my dying day. I'm willing to work, I'm willing to be
put in irons, I'm willing to get along on bread and water, but you've
just got to land me in the United States. You are an Englishman. I
suppose you've got relatives over in France fighting the Germans.
Maybe you've had some one killed who is dear to you."
"My youngest son was killed in Flanders," said the Captain simply.
"I am sorry, sir. Well, for every Englishman and every Frenchman
who has died over there, my country ought to supply some one to
take his place. I expect to be one of those men, Captain. I have
no other excuse for coming aboard your ship as a stowaway.
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