"'Well, Cap,' I says, 'I don't pretend to follow your ways of thought, and
I can't see why you abuse your position to persecute a poor prisoner o'
war on _his!_'
"'My dear fellow,' he began, throwing up his hands and blushing, 'I'll
apologise.'
"'But if you insist,' I says, 'there are just one and a half things in
this world I can't do. The odd half don't matter here; but taking parole,
and going home, and being interviewed by the boys, and giving lectures on
my single-handed campaign against the hereditary enemies of my beloved
country happens to be the one. We'll let it go at that, Cap.'
"'But it'll bore you to death,' he says. The British are a heap more
afraid of what they call being bored than of dying, I've noticed.
"'I'll survive,' I says, 'I ain't British. I can think,' I says.
"'By God,' he says, coming up to me, and extending the right hand of
fellowship, 'you ought to be English, Zigler!'
"It's no good getting mad at a compliment like that. The English all do
it. They're a crazy breed. When they don't know you they freeze up
tighter'n the St. Lawrence. When they _do_, they go out like an ice-jam in
April. Up till we prisoners left--four days--my Captain Mankeltow told me
pretty much all about himself there was; his mother and sisters, and his
bad brother that was a trooper in some Colonial corps, and how his father
didn't get on with him, and--well, everything, as I've said.
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