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Velo himself always came out unhurt and with his clothes nicely brushed and in order. Sometimes he imagined a slight, very slight cut on his forehead, which had to be becomingly bandaged, but that was always the extent of his injuries. Velo liked to imagine bandits, too; big, ferocious fellows whom he outwitted, or choked into insensibility in single combat.
"All right; all right!" agreed the soldier, while the others, listening near, laughed. "At least it is a pretty story, Count. Stick to it. We like to hear you talk." "Well, it is so, and I can prove it!" "How?" said Zaidos, suddenly leaning over the edge of his bunk. For a full minute Velo stared at him with bulging eyes. "How will you prove it?" said Zaidos with a steady stare.
I did it before when you were trying to drown us both and I am perfectly willing to do it again. You had better brace up!" Velo was silent, and Zaidos fixed his eyes on the most amazing sight that a Scout ever witnessed. Suddenly a wild shot ripped across the water, skipped along twenty feet from them, plowed its way into the sea, then disappeared. Velo screamed.
He reflected that Velo could not understand a word of the language, and proceeded to give vent to his feelings in a tongue that he had found extremely expressive in times of need. He glared at the drooping boy, while the guns continued to thunder. "You make me sick! You make me tired!" he exploded. "Great Scott, you are the worst baby I ever saw!
Velo, who never exercised if he could avoid it, listened idly. A small, pale boy in a lieutenant's uniform was violently upholding certain rules while the officer next to Zaidos disputed him smilingly. They argued pleasantly, but with the most intense earnestness. "Who is that straw-colored chap?" Velo asked the writer beside him. "Across?" questioned the scribbler.
"My second cousin, to be exact," said Zaidos; "He has lived at our house ever since he was a boy eight years old. I don't exactly understand Velo lots of the time." "I wouldn't think he was too awfully hard to understand," said Helen. "Well, he is," said Zaidos. "He has been just nice to me ever since I was hurt, but he has done some of the queerest things.
Velo knew well that in the troubled times in which Greece found herself, no excuse would be accepted. It was desertion; and the fact of his return would not soften the offense. There was no place or time for punishment or imprisonment. Velo shuddered, but smiled evilly. However, Zaidos did not appear, time passed, and finally the doors opened.
"Just what we need!" and waved the two men toward an inner room where Velo was stripped of his comfortable clothes and fitted to the new uniform of the Greek Army. And not until then did he find out his fate. A third man sauntered up and stood watching. "Rank and file?" he said jestingly. "No," said the man who had carried the note. "Stoker!" Velo thought his heart would break.
I know his handwriting.... While father and I were in Paris he often sent invitations for fixtures at the Velo once for a coach-drive to Fontainebleau. I was rather sorry I missed that." Medenham thanked her in his heart for that little pause. No printed page could be more legible than Cynthia's thought-processes.
A spool of adhesive plaster was perhaps one of the most useful things included, and there were pins and ligatures, and a small pocket lantern which Zaidos at least had never had occasion to use. Velo looked carefully at his own kit. He did not intend to be caught in any carelessness or neglect of duty. He had cast aside as unsafe the idea of skipping away.
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