CHAPTER XII
Mustered Out
JACK HEATON and I had just finished our goulash at Moquin’s on Sixth Avenue (New York), and the waiter, under the stimulus of a piece of money, graciously removed the table cloth as he had been asked to do on twelve previous occasions.
I took a couple of quires of blank paper out of my brief case and laid them in front of me; then I produced a pair of fountain pens, one filled with black ink and the other with red ink, the latter for writing on chapter headings and putting in such corrections as might be necessary, and all of which showed without any deduction that I was in for a writing spell.
“Well, Jack, we’ve got down to the last chapter and this sitting will finish it,” I started off encouragingly.
“I’ve told you all my experiences and if there’s any more to be said I guess you’ll have229
