'You wanted to see me, Abel?'

George was the only member of the group who still called the Chicago Baron by his first name.

Tes, George. Do you think you could keep the hotels ticking along for a few months if I were to take a leave of absence?'

'Sure I can,' said George - %Vhy, are you finally going to take that vacation you promised yourself?'

'No,'replied Abel. 'I'm going to war.'

'What?' said George. 'What?' he repeated.

'I'm going to New York tomorrow morning to enlist in the army. 9 Tou're crazy, you could get yourself killed!

'That isn't what I had in mind,'replied Abel. qMng some Germans is what I plan to do. Ile bastards didn't get me the first time around and I have no intention of letting them get me now.'

George continued to protest that America could win the war without Abel.

Zaphia protested too; she hated the very thought of war and little Florentyna, just turned eight years old, burst into tears. She did not quite know what war meant, but she did understand that Daddy would have to go away for a very long time.

Despite their protests, Abel took his first plane flight to New York the next day. All of America seemed to be going in different directions and he found the city full of young men in khaki saying their farewells to parents, sweethearts and wives, all assuring each other that the war would be over in a few weeks but none of them believing it.

Abel arrived at the New York Baron in time for dinner. The dining room was packed with young people, girls clinging desperately to soldiers, sailors and airmen, while Frank Sinatra crooned to the rhythms of Tommy Dorsey's big band. As Abel watched the young people on the dance floor, he wondered how many of them would ever have a chance to enjoy an evening like this again. He couldn't help remembering Sammy explaining how he had become maitre d' at the Plaza. The three men senior to him had returned from the Western Front with one leg between them. None of the young people dancing could begin to know what war was really like. He didn't join in the celebration - if that's what it was. He went to his room instead.

In the morning, he dressed in a plain dark suit and went down to the recruiting office in Times Square. He had chosen to enlist in New York because he feared someone might recognise him in Chicago and all he could hope to end up with would be a swivel chair. 'Me office was even more crowded than the dance floor had been the night before, but here no one was clinging on to anyone else. Abel hung around the entire morning in order to fill out one form that would have taken him three. minutes in his own office. He couldn't help noticing that all the other recruits looked fitter than he. He then stood in line for two more hours waiting to be interviewed by a recruiting sergeant who asked I - Lim what he did for a living.

'Hotel management,' said Abel, and went on to tell the officer of his experiences in the first war. The sergeant stared silently at the five foot seven, one hundred and ninety pound man with an expression of incredulity. If Abel had told him he was the Chicago Baron, the officer would not have doubted his stories of imprisonment and escape, but he chose to keep this information to himself and be treated like any of his fellow countrymen.

'You'll have to take a full physical tomorrow morning,' was all the recruiting sergeant said at the end of Abel's monologue, adding, as though he felt the comment was no less than his duty, 'Thank you for volunteering.'

The next day Abel had to wait several more hours for his physical examination. The doctor in charge was fairly blunt about Abel's general condition. He had been protected from such comments for several years by his,position and success. It came as a rude awakening when the doctor classified him 4F.

'You're overweight, your eyes are not too good, your heart is weak, and you limp. Frankly, Rosnovski, youre plain unfit. We can't take soldiers into battle who are likely to have a heart attack even before they find the enemy. That doesn't mean we can't use your talents; there's a lot of paperwork to be done in this war if you are interested.'

Abel wanted to hit hinee but he knew that wouldn't help get him into uniform.

'No, thank you ... sir,' he said. 'I want to fight the Germans, not send letters to them!

He returned to the hotel that evening despondent, but Abel decided that he wasn't licked yet. The next day he tried again, going to another recruiting office, but he came back to the Baron with the same result. Admittedly, the second doctor had been a little more polite, but he was every bit as firm about his condition, and once again Abel had ended up with a 4F. It was obvious to Abel that he was not going to be allowed to fight anybody in his present state of health.