“The scene shifts so fast I can’t keep up,” Mary said, fanning herself.

“It won’t be bad in here,” said Sparky, motioning her to enter a long, low eating place. “It’s more than half American, patronized mostly by our people. They run a sort of concession and get real food supplies from America.”

The place was all open screened windows. There was a breeze from the sea. The food was good, even to the coffee.

“Just think of taking off in two hours!” Mary exclaimed. “I’d like to make it two weeks.”

“Sure,” Sparky grinned. “Great place for a gal. Hundred American soldiers to pick from.”

“Sparky! Forget it!” She was half inclined to be angry. “What I mean is, I’d like really to see these places we visit, not go to it hop-skip-jump. It—it seems such a waste.”

“That’s right,” Sparky agreed. “After the war we’ll do it all over—take a whole year for it.”

“Will we?” she asked.

“Who knows?” He spoke slowly. “We may be dead. This is war.”

Sparky hurried through the meal, then excused himself. “Gotta see about our papers,” he explained. “Be back in 'bout half an hour. Get yourself another cup of java and wait here in the shade.”

Hardly had Sparky disappeared when a tall, distinguished-looking young woman entered. She was dressed in a striking manner, all in black, yet it was not the black of mourning for she wore much bright costume jewelry.

The place was fairly empty, a native couple in one corner and two doughboys in another.

“Do you mind?” The woman indicated the chair Sparky had left. “One sees so few women here.”

Mary did not mind. The woman, who spoke with a French accent, took a seat, then ordered cakes and sour wine.

“You are from America?” the woman suggested. Mary nodded.

“A lady soldier?” Mary shook her head.

“But your uniform?”

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