the lost road-第92部分

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The　pictures　and　stories　outside　the　windows　fascinated　us；　but
when　we　sketched　them　or　wrote　about　them；　they　only　proved
us　inadequate。　　All　day　long　the　pinnaces；　cutters；　gigs；　steam
launches　shoved　and　bumped　against　the　stone　steps；　marines
came　ashore　for　the　mail；　stewards　for　fruit　and　fish；　Red　Cross
nurses　to　shop；　tiny　midshipmen　to　visit　the　movies；　and　the
sailors　and　officers　of　the　Russian；　French；　British；　Italian；
and　Greek　war…ships　to　stretch　their　legs　in　the　park　of　the　Tour
Blanche；　or　to　cramp　them　under　a　cafe　table。　　Sometimes　the
ambulances　blocked　the　quay　and　the　wounded　and　frost…bitten
were　lifted　into　the　motor…boats；　and　sometimes　a　squad　of　marines
lined　the　landing　stage；　and　as　a　coffin　under　a　French　or　English
flag　was　borne　up　the　stone　steps　stood　at　salute。　　So　crowded
was　the　harbor　that　the　oars　of　the　boatmen　interlocked。

Close　to　the　stone　quay；　stretched　along　the　three…mile　circle；
were　the　fishing　smacks；　beyond　them；　so　near　that　the　anchor
chains　fouled；　were　the　passenger　ships　with　gigantic　Greek　flags
painted　on　their　sides；　and　beyond　them　transports　from　Marseilles；
Malta；　and　Suvla　Bay；　black　colliers；　white　hospital　ships；　burning
green　electric　lights；　red…bellied　tramps　and　freighters；　and；　hemming
them　in；　the　grim；　mouse…colored　destroyers；　submarines；　cruisers；
dreadnaughts。　　At　times；　like　a　wall；　the　cold　fog　rose　between　us
and　the　harbor；　and　again　the　curtain　would　suddenly　be　ripped
asunder；　and　the　sun　would　flash　on　the　brass　work　of　the　fleet；
on　the　white　wings　of　the　aeroplanes；　on　the　snow…draped
shoulders　of　Mount　Olympus。　　We　often　speculated　as　to　how
in　the　early　days　the　gods　and　goddesses；　dressed　as　they　were；
or　as　they　were　not；　survived　the　snows　of　Mount　Olympus。　　Or
was　it　only　their　resort　for　the　summer？

It　got　about　that　we　had　a　vast　room　to　ourselves；　where　one
might　obtain　a　drink；　or　a　sofa　for　the　night；　or　even　money　to
cable　for　money。　　So；　we　had　many　strange　visitors；　some　half
starved；　half　frozen；　with　terrible　tales　of　the　Albanian　trail；
of　the　Austrian　prisoners　fallen　by　the　wayside；　of　the　mountain
passes　heaped　with　dead；　of　the　doctors　and　nurses　wading
waist…high　in　snow…drifts　and　for　food　killing　the　ponies。　　Some
of　our　visitors　wanted　to　get　their　names　in　the　American　papers
so　that　the　folks　at　home　would　know　they　were　still　alive；
others　wanted　us　to　keep　their　names　out　of　the　papers；　hoping
the　police　would　think　them　dead；　another；　convinced　it　was　of
pressing　news　value；　desired　us　to　advertise　the　fact　that　he　had
invented　a　poisonous　gas　for　use　in　the　trenches。　　With　difficulty
we　prevented　him　from　casting　it　adrift　in　our　room。　　Or；　he　had
for　sale　a　second…hand　motor…cycle；　or　he　would　accept　a　position
as　barkeeper；　or　for　five　francs　would　sell　a　state　secret　that；　once
made　public；　in　a　month　would　end　the　war。　　It　seemed　cheap　at
the　price。

Each　of　us　had　his　〃scouts〃　to　bring　him　the　bazaar　rumor；　the
Turkish　bath　rumor；　the　cafe　rumor。　　Some　of　our　scouts　journeyed
as　far　afield　as　Monastir　and　Doiran；　returning　to　drip　snow　on
the　floor；　and　to　tell　us　tales；　one…half　of　which　we　refused　to
believe；　and　the　other　half　the　censor　refused　to　pass。　　With　each
other's　visitors　it　was　etiquette　not　to　interfere。　　It　would　have
been　like　tapping　a　private　wire。　　When　we　found　John　sketching
a　giant　stranger　in　a　cap　and　coat　of　wolf　skin　we　did　not　seek
to　know　if　he　were　an　Albanian　brigand；　or　a　Servian　prince
incognito；　and　when　a　dark　Levantine　sat　close　to　the　Kid；
whispering；　and　the　Kid　banged　on　his　typewriter；　we　did　not
listen。

So；　when　I　came　in　one　afternoon　and　found　a　strange　American
youth　writing　at　John's　table；　and　no　one　introduced　us；　I　took
it　for　granted　he　had　sold　the　Artist　an　〃exclusive〃　story；　and
asked　no　questions。　　But　I　could　not　help　hearing　what　they　said。
Even　though　I　tried　to　drown　their　voices　by　beating　on　the　Kid's
typewriter。　　I　was　taking　my　third　lesson；　and　I　had　printed；　〃I
Amm　5w　writjng　This；　5wjth　my　own　lilly　w？ite　handS；〃　when　I
heard　the　Kid　saying：

〃You　can　beat　the　game　this　way。　　Let　John　buy　you　a　ticket　to　the
Piraeus。　　If　you　go　from　one　Greek　port　to　another　you　don't　need
a　vise。　　But；　if　you　book　from　here　to　Italy；　you　must　get　a　permit
from　the　Italian　consul；　and　our　consul；　and　the　police。　　The　plot
is　to　get　out　of　the　war　zone；　isn't　it？　Well；　then；　my　dope　is　to　get
out　quick；　and　map　the　rest　of　your　trip　when　you're　safe　in　Athens。〃

It　was　no　business　of　mine；　but　I　had　to　look　up。　　The　stranger
was　now　pacing　the　floor。　　I　noticed　that　while　his　face　was
almost　black　with　tan；　his　upper　lip　was　quite　white。　　I　noticed
also　that　he　had　his　hands　in　the　pockets　of　one　of　John's　blue
serge　suits；　and　that　the　pink　silk　shirt　he　wore　was　one　that
once　had　belonged　to　the　Kid。　　Except　for　the　pink　shirt；　in　the
appearance　of　the　young　man　there　was　nothing　unusual。　　He　was
of　a　familiar　type。　　He　looked　like　a　young　business　man　from　our
Middle　West；　matter…of…fact　and　unimaginative；　but　capable　and
self…reliant。　　If　he　had　had　a　fountain　pen　in　his　upper　waistcoat
pocket；　I　would　have　guessed　he　was　an　insurance　agent；　or　the
publicity　man　for　a　new　automobile。　　John　picked　up　his　hat；
and　said；　〃That's　good　advice。　　Give　me　your　steamer　ticket；　Fred；
and　I'll　have　them　change　it。〃　　He　went　out；　but　he　did　not　ask
Fred　to　go　with　him。

Uncle　Jim　rose；　and　murmured　something　about　the　Cafe　Roma；
and　tea。　　But　neither　did　he　invite　Fred　to　go　with　him。　　Instead；
he　told　him　to　make　himself　at　home；　and　if　he　wanted　anything
the　waiter　would　bring　it　from　the　cafe　downstairs。　　Then　the　Kid；
as　though　he　also　was　uncomfortable　at　being　left　alone　with　us；
hurried　to　the　door。　　〃Going　to　get　you　a　suit…case；〃　he　explained。
〃Back　in　five　minutes。〃

The　stranger　made　no　answer。　　Probably　he　did　not　hear　him。　　Not　a
hundred　feet　from　our　windows　three　Greek　steamers　were　huddled
together；　and　the　eyes　of　the　American　were　fixed　on　them。　　The
one　for　which　John　had　gone　to　buy　him　a　new　ticket　lay　nearest。
She　was　to　sail　in　two　hours。　　Impatiently；　in　short　quick　steps；
the　stranger　paced　the　length　of　the　room；　but　when　he　turned　and
so　could　see　the　harbor；　he　walked　slowly；　devouring　it　with　his
eyes。　　For　some　time；　in　silence；　he　repeated　this　manoeuvre；　and
then　the　complaints　of　the　typewriter　disturbed　him。　　He　halted
and　observed　my　struggles。　　Under　his　scornful　eye；　in　my
embarrassment　I　frequently　hit　the　right　letter。　　〃You　a
newspaper　man；　too？〃　he　asked。　　I　boasted　I　was；　but
begged　not　to　be　judged　by　my　typewriting。

〃I　got　some　great　stories　to　write　when　I　get　back　to　God's　country；〃
he　announced。　　〃I　was　a　reporter　for　two　years　in　Kansas　City　before
the　war；　and　now　I'm　going　back　to　lecture　and　write。　　I　got　enough
material　to　keep　me　at　work　for　five　years。　　All　kinds　of　stuff
specials；　fiction；　stories；　personal　experiences；　maybe　a　novel。〃

I　regarded　him　with　envy。　　For　the　correspondents　in　the
greatest　of　all　wars　the　pickings　had　been　meagre。　　〃You
are　to　be　congratulated；〃　I　said。　　He　brushed　aside　my
congratulations。　　〃For　what？〃　he　demanded。　　〃I　didn't　go
after　the　stories；　they　came　to　me。　　The　things　I　saw　I　had
to　see。　　Couldn't　get　away　from　them。　　I've　been　with　the
British；　serving　in　the　R。　A。　M。　C。　　Been　hospital　steward；
stretcher　bearer；　ambulance　driver。　　I've　been　sixteen　months
at　the　front；　and　all　the　time　on　the　firing…line。　　I　was　in　the
retreat　from　Mons；　with　French　on　the　Marne；　at　Ypres；　all
through　the　winter　fighting　along　the　Canal；　on　the　Gallipoli
Peninsula；　and；　just　lately；　in　Servia。　　I've　seen　more　of　this
war　than　any　soldier。　　Because；　sometimes；　they　give　the　soldier
a　rest；　they　never　give　the　medical　corps　a　rest。　　The　only　rest　I
got　was　when　I　was　wounded。〃

He　seemed　no　worse　for　his　wounds；　so　again　I　tendered
congratulations。　　This　time　he　accepted　them。　　The　recollection
of　the　things　he　had　seen；　things　incredible；　terrible；　unique　in
human　experience；　had　stirred　him。　　He　talked　on；　not　boastfully；
but　in　a　tone；　rather；　of　awe　and　disbelief；　as　though　assuring
himself　that　it　was　really　he　to　whom　such　things　had　happened。

〃I　don't　believe　there's　any　kind　of　fighting　I　haven't　seen；〃　he
declared；　〃hand…to…hand　fighting　with　bayonets；　grenades；　gun
butts。　　I've　seen　'em　on　their　knees　in　the　mud　choking　each
other；　beating　each　other　with　their　bare　fists。　　I've　seen　every
kind　of　airship；　bomb；　shell；　poison　gas；　every　kind　of　wound。
Seen　whole　villages　turned　into　a　brickyard　in　twenty　minutes；
in　Servia　seen　bodies　of　women　frozen　to　death；　bodies　of　babies
starved　to　death；　seen　men　in　Belgium　swinging　from　trees；　along
the　Yzer　for　three　months　I　saw　the　bodies　of　men　I'd　known
sticking　out　of　the　mud；　or　hung　up　on　the　barb　wire；　with　the
crows　picking　them。

〃I've　seen　some　of　the　nerviest　stunts　that　ever　were　pulled　off
in　history。　　I've　seen　real　heroes。　　Time　and　time　again　I've　seen
a　man　throw　away　his　life　for　his　officer；　or　for　a　chap　he　didn't
know；　just　as　though　it　was　a　cigarette　butt。　　I've　seen　t