Then Fritz bared his grievance. He didn’t mind, he said, being a prisoner. The size of his captor was the thing that galled. “And for Gott’s sake,” he added, “make him give back my helmet.”

The proper authority turned to the captain’s little pal. “He’s your prisoner,” he said. “What do you want to do with the helmet?”

“Keep it, sir,” said the captain’s little pal.

And it will be used back in Australia some day to illustrate the story, which by that time will doubtless have more trimmings.

“But how about Fritz?” I asked. “When he gets home and tells the same story, he’ll have nothing with which to prove it.”

“He ine’t agoin’ to tell the sime story.”