n the
grill, but leads the way to a table right in the middle of the big room
on the main floor, where most of the ladies are. And believe me,
paradin' through a mob like that is something he don't shrink from at
all. Did I mention that Hartley used to be kind of meek actin'? Well,
that was before I heard him talk severe to a Greek waiter.

Also I got a new line on the way Hartley looks at the enlisted man. I'd
suggested that a lot of these returned buddies might have had about all
the drill stuff they cared for and that this idea of reportin' once a
week at some armory possibly wouldn't appeal to 'em.

"They'll have to, that's all," says Hartley. "The new service act will
provide for that. Besides, it will do 'em good, keep 'em in line.
Anyway, that's what they're for."

"Oh," says I. "Are they? Say, with sentiments like that you must have
been about as popular with your company, Hartley, as an ex-grand duke at
a Bolshevik picnic."

"What I was after," says he, "was discipline, no popularity. It's what
the average young fellow needs most. As for me, I had it clubbed into me
from the start. If I didn't mind what I was told at home I got a bat on
the ear. Same way here in the Corrugated, you might say. I've always had
to take orders or get kicked. That's what I passed on to my men. At
least I tried to."

And as Hartley stiffens up and glares across the table at an imaginary
line of doughboys I could guess that he succeeded.

It was while I was followin' his gaze that I noticed this bunch of five
young heroes at a corner table. Their overseas caps was stacked on a hat
tree nearby and one of 'em was wearin' some sort of medal. And from the
reckless way they were tacklin' big platters of expensive food, such as
broiled live lobster and planked steaks, I judged they'd been mustered
out more or less recent.

Just now, though, they seemed a good deal interested in something over
our way. First off I didn't know but some of 'em might be old friends of
mine, but pretty soon I decides that it's Hartley they're lookin' at. I
saw 'em nudgin' each other and stretchin' their necks, and they seems to
indulge in a lively debate, which ends in a general haw-haw. I calls
Hartley's attention to the bunch.

"There's a squad of buddies that I'll bet ain't yearnin' to hear someone
yell 'Shun!' at 'em again," I suggests. "Know any of 'em?"

"It is quite possible," says Hartley, glancin' at 'em casual. "They all
look so much alike,