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Great heavens," he said, "who would have believed that a 'movie-man' would be here, the nearest point to Bosche lines on the whole front. You must like your job. Hanged if I envy you. Anyway, hope to see you after the show, if I haven't 'gone West. Cheero," and with that he left me. Packing up my camera, I prepared to return. Time was getting on. It was now 6.30 a.m.
Innumerable worlds seemed to be crashing together, and it sounded as if thousands of peals of thunder had concentrated themselves into one soul-terrifying roar. An officer looked in at the entrance at that moment. "Hullo!" he said. "Are you the 'movie-man'?" "Yes," I said, sitting up. "What's up?" "Well, I'm hanged; I'm glad I've found you.
"You know your business, and I know mine. You're going to have me named in your write-ups as the movie-man that run this show for the convention, ain't you?
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