My Four Weeks in France (Volume 640)

This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text, images, or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1918. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... VI HOW I DIDN'T DRIVE MAJOR BLANK'S CAR TO CAMP SUCH-AND-SUCH Monday, September 10. Paris. The American major who owns the car which Mr. Kiley drove down from Le Havre, whither it had been sent by the man who bought it in London for the American major--well, anyway, this American major, he's in the artillery camp at Such-and-Such, and he wants me to bring it down there for him. I've never handled, or, rather, footled one of the little birds, but it's something everybody should learn, like French and auction and how to swim. Besides, I want to see the artillery camp. So I'm accepting the commission and intend to get busy to-morrow morning. Tuesday, September 11. Paris. With an American pass and an order for the car, I taxied to the United States army garage, in the Quai Debilly. Avez-vous fixed vous with passes? inquired a friendly inmate of the garage. I showed him my American card. That isn't bien suffisant, he said. You'll have to get a pink one to go through the French army zone. I recalled then our troubles on a previous automobile trip and was glad he had spoken. Where do I go for that? I inquired. Go, said he, to the Prefet de Ligne du Communications. Or something like that. Ou is il? I think he's in the Rue Francois Premier. And is the car all right? I guess so. Nos haven't looked at it yet. I had let my taxi go, and twenty minutes were spent in getting another. It was another hour before we located the prefet. A secretary examined my passport and American pass and took my dossier: Name, nationality, birthplace, age, ancestry, real purpose in coming to France. Hair--black; forehead -- high; eyes -- brown; nose -- prominent; mouth--medium; chin--round; complexion--dark; height--six one and three-quarters. Sign here. Now, said...