The miserable Kansan had not thought to take it, being busy with the Beacon Building or the water hazard at the Emporia Country Club, and then, as the Col-o-nel took her arm she lifted the Eyes to the stupid clod of a Kansan and switched on all the joyous incandescence of her lamps as she said, addressing the Frenchman but gazing sweetly at the American, "Col-o-nel, will you please carry my books?"
And at that it seems a lot of money to pay for a rig which can be worn at most only two months "You'll have to put out that cigar, sir" She often paced the rounds of the deck between us "Col-o-nel, will you please carry my books?" So we waved back at them so long as they were in sight "Donnez moi some soap here and be mighty blame toot sweet about it!"
But he was seeing a new world, and this seemed to be one of the pleasant new things in it this theory of the woman requiring to be pet-ted! Then the French Colonel hove in sight and she said: "Oh, yes come on, Col-o-nel" making three unaccented syllables of the word "and we shall have une femme sandweech." She gave the Colonel her arm.
The Col-o-nel and the lady with their idea on the woman question, the Armenians with their bizarre music, the Yankee with his freaky humour, and the sedentary gold dust twins from Kansas, and a great boat-load of others like them in their striking differences of ideals and notions, all hurrying across the world to help in the great fight for democracy which, in its essence, is only the right to live in the world, each man, each cult, each race, each blood and each nation after its own kind.