The results are practically identical. I am not taking any
U.S. Army in mine.
"I went to Amsterdam with her--to this Dutch junta that supposes it's
bossing the war. I wasn't brought up to love the British for one thing,
and for another I knew that if she got in her fine work (my gun) I'd stand
more chance of receiving an unbiassed report from a crowd of dam-fool
British officers than from a hatful of politicians' nephews doing duty as
commissaries and ordnance sharps. As I said, I put the brown man out of
the question. That's the way _I_ regarded the proposition.
"The Dutch in Holland don't amount to a row of pins. Maybe I misjudge 'em.
Maybe they've been swindled too often by self-seeking adventurers to know
a enthusiast when they see him. Anyway, they're slower than the Wrath o'
God. But on delusions--as to their winning out next Thursday week at 9
A.M.--they are--if I may say so--quite British.
"I'll tell you a curious thing, too. I fought 'em for ten days before I
could get the financial side of my game fixed to my liking. I knew they
didn't believe in the Zigler, but they'd no call to be crazy-mean. I fixed
it--free passage and freight for me and the gun to Delagoa Bay, and beyond
by steam and rail. Then I went aboard to see her crated, and there I
struck my fellow-passengers--all deadheads, same as me. Well, Sir, I
turned in my tracks where I stood and besieged the ticket-office, and I
said, 'Look at here, Van Dunk.
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